Tangled Up In Blue
by Sintari
Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts. COMPLETE!
1. Tangled Up In Blue

Tangled Up in Blue

By: Sintari

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts. _

_Pairings: 2&4, 2&5&H&S (the "and" signs mean friendship, FF always screws plus signs up; multiple pairings to come later, incl. 3x4 and possibly 2x4) _

_Warnings for this chapter: Rated R for language and light, light lime_

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in. _

_Archive: If you'd like to, just ask; Archived at The Ventilation Shaft (see my profile for address) _

_Author's Notes: Thanks to Rocaddict for the beta read; And to clarify something - Duo is not bastardized in this story, I promise. He might not seem like the most likable guy in this first chapter, but he has his reasons for being the way he is and they will become clear as the story progresses. Keep that in mind and don't flame me for being mean to Duo! I only torture Duo so much because I love him. Cross my heart! _

Chapter 1 - Tangled Up In Blue 

"Breathe in, breathe out," a laughing Duo told a white-faced Quatre. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"What's the worst that could happen?" The petite blonde rounded on him. "What's the worst that could happen? They could hate me, laugh me out of the office and then I could die poor and miserable. That's the worst that could happen!"

"Don't you think you're being a bit of a drama queen?"

"Well, I suppose when I say it like that, it does sound a little over dramatic, but what if they don't want me. I've been trying for this job for months."

"If they don't want you, then fuck 'em, Quatre. That's what. If they don't see the wonder, the boundless talent that is Quatre Winner then that's their problem, not yours. And quite worrying about the community college thing. You probably know more than all the other applicants combined." Duo adjusted Quatre's tie and mockingly licked a finger, smoothing an errant strand of blonde hair. "Mama would approve," he pronounced archly. Duo moved behind Quatre so that both their reflections appeared in Quatre's bathroom mirror. Wrapping his arms around his best friend of fourteen years, Duo whispered in his ear. "You're going to knock 'em dead, Cat." Quatre leaned into the embrace and closed his eyes. They stood there for a moment, pressed together like spoons in a drawer.

Quatre regarded their reflection in the mirror. To him, he appeared timid and mousy, like a kid playing dress up in his father's suit. Duo, on the other hand, looked like a million bucks in an old t-shirt and a pair of threadbare black jeans. Duo somehow appeared more substantial, more real than he did. And, Quatre mused, that was the story of their lives. Beautiful Duo - who would do anything, say anything, and most definitely fuck anything - and his faithful sidekick Quatre, always in the background, ready to play the wingman, pick up the pieces, post the bail.

Quatre gripped his tie in both hands, managing to wrinkle it. "Maybe I shouldn't go."

Duo rolled his eyes and gave his friend a little shove. "Get out of here. And next time I see you again, you'd better have a job."

()()()()()()

Four hours later, Quatre strutted into Tangle, the hangout for all the good (and bad) gay boys and girls in Solomon on a Friday night. His friends Wufei and Sally were in their usual spots, leaning on the bar and giving Hilde, their favorite bartender, the usual grief.

"What about her?" Wufei was saying, pointing ostentatiously at a woman wearing a cowboy hat and leather pants and dancing with an invisible partner.

Hilde blushed and ducked behind the bar. "Dancing by herself, too weird," came her muffled response.

"At least she's dancing," Sally put in, giving her friend a 'look.'

"I'm working!" Hilde protested, brandishing a dishrag and vigorously swiping at the bar in proof.

"Like it would matter if you weren't," Sally replied darkly.

She turned her attention on Quatre gratefully. "Well look what the cat drug in," she drawled, imitating cowgirl speech. "I don't believe I've ever seen you in here before, stranger. You new in town, son?"

"Sorry, Miss Kitty," Quatre countered. "I'm here for the cowboys. But thanks for asking." He was having trouble hiding the wide grin that kept threatening to break out and spread all over his face.

"So how'd it go?" Wufei, who seemed to have given up getting the cowgirl's attention, asked. "Or do I really have to ask?" He grinned. It was a somewhat unusual expression on the normally taciturn Chinese man's face.

They all watched as Quatre swept a glance over the bar before answering.

"He left with some twinkie a few minutes ago," Sally answered Quatre's unasked question with a rather sour look on her face. Hilde looked away, not meeting Quatre's eye.

"Oh. Well…" he shrugged and his grin returned, maybe a fraction less sunny this time. "I got the job! You're talking to the new Assistant Large Mammal Keeper at the Solomon Zoo! I start Monday!"

Hilde jumped up and down and squealed. Sally patted him on the back, all the while giving Hilde a hard look and speculating out loud, "Christ, are you sure you're really a lesbian?" Wufei surprised them all by enveloping him in a tight hug. "I knew you could do it," he beamed after releasing a surprised Quatre from his grasp.

Quatre sat down and picked up the drink that Hilde had poured him. "Duo was right. They said my lack in education wasn't a factor; that you pick up most things through experience anyway. They were really impressed with my resume and my knowledge of big cats."

"You mean to tell me you didn't subscribe to National Geographic all those years just for the naked tribesmen?" Sally teased.

"No, you caught me. The zoology articles were just an added bonus," Quatre quipped, raising his glass. "To all the naked tribesmen who helped me get where I am today."

"To naked tribesmen," Wufei, Sally and Hilde echoed.

Quatre watched as a tall, slender shadow loomed in front of the bar's door but his shoulders slumped a little when the newest patron did not turn out to be Duo.

"I'll be right back, guys." Quatre jostled his way through the growing crowd to the payphones in the back by the bathrooms. Thankfully, he was able to duck into one of the phone cubicles before Otto, who had been staggering out of the men's room, could focus enough to recognize him. Otto was older than Quatre and his friends, with a thinning hairline and the mistaken impression that his drink limit before fall-down drunkenness was a solid ten double tequilas. One night, out of a sheer haven't-gotten-laid-for-six-months kind of desperation, Quatre had taken him home. The night had been an unmitigated disaster and everyone, everyone that is, except Otto, knew it. Otto seemed to think they were - for lack of a better phrase - fuck-buddies, now, and he never hesitated to remind Quatre that his bedroom door was always open.

Duo picked up on the 5th ring. Quatre listened to his labored breathing for a full ten seconds before his friend managed to say, "D-Duo Maxwell."

"Hi," Quatre said flatly.

"Hang on, hang on," he heard Duo breathlessly tell someone in the background. Then: "Oh, oh god. Oooooooh god." Quatre massaged his temples. The small part of him that could still get behind the belief that denial was just a river in Egypt hoped that Duo was just getting a massage. The fact that it was Friday night, and well, that Duo was Duo, flatly contradicted his optimistic wish. Quatre's treacherous mind conjured an image of Duo shirtless, head thrown back, braid casually draped over one shoulder, eyes turned inward, lips parted in ecstasy.

"I said hang on," came Duo's voice again, irritable now. And enough to jolt Quatre out of his reverie. "Just go get a towel. I'll just be a minute. Hey Cat!"

"Oh are you talking to me now?" Quatre said wryly. He focused hard on one spot of graffiti whittled into the back of the phone booth. It read "Wanted: Meaningful overnight relationship." That might as well have been Tangle's slogan.

Duo laughed. "Oh yeah, well, somebody… what's your name?" A muffled voice in the background. "Todd. Well, Todd" he drew the word out into two syllables, "wasn't listening. I think Todd is going to have to be taught a little lesson."

Quatre heard a throaty moan in the background and rolled his eyes. "I'll call back," he said bluntly. Why hadn't he done that when he first figured out what was going on? Why did he always settle for crumbs of Duo's attention?

"No wait," Duo pleaded. "How'd it go, Cat? Did you get the job?"

"Yeah."

"See, I wasn't even worried. They couldn't help but see how wonderful you are."

"I thought we were going to meet at Tangle," slipped out. Quatre winced at himself. Don't ask. Don't need him. It's the surest way to lose him.

"Now if I sat there waiting for you like some nursemaid, or God forbid, your mother, what kind of impression would that make. There was never any doubt in my mind that you would be the new Assistant Large Mammal Keeper of the Solomon City Zoo." He said the name of the position loftily, as if Quatre were to be crowned the next King of Siam.

A muffled voice in the background again. "Gotta go, Cat. Something's…"

"Come up. Right."

"See you tomorrow night at Tangle, okay?"

"Yep, tomorrow night. Bye."

Duo's cell phone clicked off. Quatre gave the receiver on his end a long look before replacing it on the cradle. And when he stepped back into the barroom, he allowed Otto to buy him a screwdriver. And another. And he didn't protest when Otto pulled him into a bathroom stall, even though Wufei was persistently trying to convince him to accept a ride home. After all, Quatre had just gotten his dream job. It was expected that he celebrate, right?

Author's Note: I personally like this story, but I wasn't sure if I should continue with it. I don't want to get Duo and Quatre too OOC, even though this is an A/U. Let me know what you think!


	2. Ways to Bleed

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 2&4, 2 (The "&'s" mean frienship. likes to get rid of plus signs; multiple pairings to come later, incl. 3x4 and possibly 2x4??)_

_Warnings for this chapter: Rated R for language and sexual innuendo_

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: If you'd like to, just ask; Archived at The Ventilation Shaft (see my profile for address)_

_A/N: Thanks to Strey for the beta read; Some of the terms toward the end of this chapter get kind of vague and that's because I'm trying to keep this to an R rating for as long as possible in order to stay on Hopefully the vagueness doesn't cripple the story!_

**Chapter 2 – Ways to Bleed **

_The tradition of the dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living. _

_ – Karl Marx_

_Thump. Thump._ Duo groggily opened his eyes. The trick from the night before – what was it? Matt? Todd? was naked beside him and drooling on his 800 thread count sheets. Disgusting.

_Thump. Thump. _Somebody was knocking, no pounding, on his door on a Saturday morning. Fuck! Alright already. He pulled on the same pair of black jeans from the night before, buttoning them haphazardly. Todd, that was it, his mouth still wide open against the pillow, snored loudly but didn't wake. Duo smoothed his bangs down with one hand and absently tightened the tie on the end of his braid. Then he straightened out the cheap silver cross pendant that Quatre had given him back when the religious symbol still held some meaning for both of them. The chain always managed to get tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck while he slept, but he never took it off.

At last, peering sleepily through his peephole, Duo's violet eyes narrowed at the sight on the other end.

With a grimace, he threw the door open wide.

"Mother."

"Duo." Miriam Maxwell McNally's make-up was immaculate as usual. She wore a dove-gray suit with a strand of pearls at her throat. Her blonde-with-a-little-help hair was teased into a severe style he had never seen before but was certain had originally appeared on the head of another, more senior, Senator's wife. Mrs. Capitol Hill, 2004.

Two matching sets of violet eyes sized each other up. Under that critical gaze, Duo had to quash the urge to re-button his pants appropriately, and then go put on a shirt. And tuck it in. Instead he stretched, ending with his arms behind his head. His mother's eyes widened and for a moment he thought his small display of yoga was causing her to choke on her own tongue. 'Maybe she's finally kicking off…'

A startled yelp from behind him clued him in to the real reason for his mother's alarm. A stark naked Todd was retreating, hands in the air, back to Duo's bedroom.

"Mother, Todd. Todd, Mother," Duo remembered his all-important etiquette as his mother visibly whitened.

She opened her mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it up again. "It's not enough that you _choose _this lifestyle…" She measured out each word, biting off the ends. "You have to flaunt it in front of me. What if Bayard had been with me?"

"You're the one who showed up without calling," he pointed out matter-of-factly, matching her cold tone. "And The Senator wouldn't dare be seen here. He's made that perfectly clear."

They took each other in for another long minute. Miriam cracked first. Her words were meant to offer comfort, her cold tone was not. "Duo, you're not happy like this. If you would just accept Jesus Christ into your heart…"

"What the fuck do you care if I'm happy?" It wasn't like Duo Maxwell to lose his cool like this, but Miriam Maxwell was one of the few people who knew what buttons to push. "What are you here for anyway? A god damned campaign contribution? I'll get my checkbook." He stomped over the hardwood floor.

His mother sagged against the doorway, as if her muscles had turned to water. "Your father would be so disappointed. You're not acting like a man…" She seemed to realize she had said too much, and stopped.

Duo froze. Then he turned around. Ever. So. Slowly. His eyes focused on the woman in the doorway with a singularity that left room for nothing else.

"Get. Out."

"Duo…"

"Get out!" he shouted, his voice ragged with emotion.

When Miriam McNalley's shadow darkened the door no longer, a now dressed Todd tentatively stepped out of the bedroom. "You, too." Duo jerked his thumb toward the door.

Todd scooted out without asking if they could see one another again. Good. Duo would have said no. He always said no. He was legendary for saying no. But it didn't stop people from trying. The more optimistic among his one night stands lay face down on the mattress beneath him and called it love. They shouldn't have. It felt good to sate his lust inside a different man each night. It did. But underlying the moans, and the screams, and the thrusts was always that same lilting mantra. _Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you, Mother. Fuck you, Bayard. Fuck you all. _And in that sweat-slicked moment when his lust came to fruition, he could believe for one crystal-clear second that all the pain of the past would go away, seeping out of him like blood from a freshly opened vein. In that one second, he was free.

Duo Maxwell lived for that second.

The huge apartment empty now, Duo fumbled with the phone, hitting #1 on the speed dial. It rang once and then he heard his best friend's voice on the other end.

"Quatre…" was all he could bring himself to say.

A deep breath on the other end of the line. "Your mother's been there, hasn't she? Don't move. I'll be right there."

Quatre didn't bother to offer Otto any coffee before he left.

()()()()()

Quatre let himself in to Duo's apartment with his copy of the key. The light in the front room was on but Duo wasn't there, nor was he on the spacious leather couch or in the spotless stainless steel and glass kitchen. Quatre's eyes fell on the 3x5 photograph of Mitch Maxwell that hung oddly in one corner of the living room. If you weren't familiar with the room, you might miss it. And it was not like Duo to keep such sentimental objects. There rest of the décor was perfectly matched, with geometrically shaped knick-knacks and objects d'art that had come as a set with the expensive furniture. The place was a showpiece. But if you tried to find a touch of Duo in the art hanging on the walls or the whimsical placement of a chair, you wouldn't. Except the 3x5 in it's dollar-store frame. Quatre remembered it sitting on Duo's bedside table at the rent-controlled flea-trap where Miriam and Duo had lived when they first moved to Solomon. And in the same spot in Duo's room at Bayard McNalley's Victorian in downtown Solomon, it's cheap frame and its contents like an imperfection on the antique furniture. The few times Quatre had gone to visit Duo's college dorm, he remembered the picture perched precariously on the corner of his tiny desk. And it had been one of the first things to go up on the wall when Quatre and Duo had moved him into this huge uptown apartment. Quatre paused a moment to really look at the picture for the first time in years. It was so ever-present it had become a part of the background, like the plant in the corner that you don't see until it wilts.

It could have been Duo standing there, leaning against the tail gate of an old pickup truck, Quatre realized for the first time. Only instead of the long braid, Duo's father wore his hair in a 70's shag. Mitch Maxwell was brandishing a dark brown beer bottle, his head was thrown back and he was looking off camera, as if toasting someone. His face bore the exact same smug grin that Duo's often did. That look that said, "I've got you right where I want you." Obviously not well off, the man in the picture wore a flannel work shirt and tight blue jeans that were worn out at the knees and pockets. Quatre realized for a moment that he had been running his eyes over the muscles in Mitch Maxwell's thighs and gave a shudder at the thought of being attracted to such a man, even for a moment. No matter how much he looked like Duo.

The real Duo was in his bedroom, flung across the bed. He held a bottle of Jim Beam in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other in what, if it hadn't been Duo, would have seemed like a caricature of misery. Quatre gently lifted the bottle out of one hand, and put the cigarette out in an ash tray on the nightstand. Then he climbed into the bed with his friend and snaked an arm around his shoulder, careful to adjust the braid so that it didn't pull.

Duo nuzzled his face into Quatre's neck. For a moment, Quatre thought his friend was being playful, until he felt the wetness glide down his neck and pool in the hollow between his neck and collar bone.

"Take it like a man, son" he heard Duo mutter, hot breath skating along his shoulder. And so he knew what Duo was remembering. And now there was nothing to do but wait. They sat there in the dark room for hours.

Clinging together for dear life.

()()()()()

That night at Tangle, when Duo hadn't shown up and Wufei asked him, for what must have been the thousandth time, why he let Duo treat him this way, Quatre just shrugged, thought back to the sting of Duo's tears as they trickled down his neck, and couldn't think of a thing to reply.


	3. I Guess This is Growing Up

**Tangled Up in Blue**

By: Sintari

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 2&4, 2 (The "&'s" mean friendship. This site likes to get rid of plus signs; multiple pairings to come later, incl. 3x4, 2x? and possibly 2x4??)_

_Warnings for this chapter: Rated R for language and sexual innuendo; ultra light lime_

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: If you'd like to, just ask; Archived at The Ventilation Shaft (see my profile for address)_

_A/N: Thanks to Strey for the beta read and thanks to my wonderful reviewers. It's so true that reviews fuel your muses. This chapter probably wouldn't have been posted for another week or more if it weren't for all this encouragement! _

_Tardis__: You hit the nail on the head. It is sort of a QAF crossover, though I'm hoping that, like you said, that the story will end up being much more than that. I think you'll find that this chapter reeks of QAF, but later on the storyline will start pulling away and developing into its own thing. As for the happy ending… Nah, can't give that away now, can I?!?_

_Merit: Thanks for your constant support and for the chat time! I agree, chilling implications in Chapter 2._

_Anushkajan__: Hah, I'm glad I could bring you out of lurkerdom! Don't be shy, I'd love to hear what you have to say about this chapter!_

()()()()()

**Chapter 3** **– I Guess This Is Growing Up**

_If you want me again, look for me under your boot soles. – Walt Whitman_

Like Solomon itself, the Solomon City Zoo had the atmosphere of the day after a party – like a thousand people had just gone home, and you just missed them. The litter from the party was swept into the zoo's dark corners, the animals appeared tired, and if you wanted to carry the party metaphor father, as if they had all had one too many to drink the night before. Solomon was a city past its prime, and in the zoo, it showed.

Quatre, who had dressed for his first day on the job in a khaki pants and a polo shirt, was already feeling decidedly overdressed as he followed his new boss, Dr. Johansson (who was conveniently clad in jeans and an old t-shirt), around the premises. He had already been slapped in the face with a briar while slogging through the black bear habitat, and his loafers were covered in what would turn out to be a permanent layer of mud.

After viewing the zoo's operations, Quatre had come to one conclusion. They hadn't hired him because his knowledge and passion had outshined all the other candidates. The Solomon City Zoo had experienced massive budget cuts. They just couldn't afford anyone with more education and experience. That figured. Quatre Winner always got the short end of the stick.

Still, being up close and personal with the animals, measuring their food out, even getting to pet the docile ones, Quatre was in his personal heaven. And they haven't even gotten to the big cats yet.

The small Solomon City Zoo had four lions and a Bengal tiger, and though their habitats couldn't have been more different, the zoo's designers had decided to group them together in one corner of the zoo lot. When Dr. Johansson let Quatre into the outer courtyard of the tiger's rainforest habitat, the first thing he noticed was a delicious rear end bent over a bin in the corner. The gate creaked, and the owner of said rear end stood up, to reveal a face half covered by messy brown hair. Even in the dark though, Quatre could have told you that this guy was gorgeous.

"Trowa, this is Quatre, the new assistant. Quatre, this is Trowa, my right hand man and a big cat expert in his own right. In fact, he's working on his doctoral thesis on the Tsavo lions." Quatre was instantly intrigued. The Tsavo lions were the maneless man-eaters who had been the subject of the film The Ghost and the Darkness. Dr. Johansson continued in the lecturing tone Quatre was already becoming accustomed too. "He's got some interesting theories, Quatre, you ought to ask him about them." Turning to Trowa, he continued, "Quatre here is especially interested in the big cats as well, Trowa. I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about."

"I hope you're right," Quatre thought hopefully. Aloud, he said "The Tsavo lions, that was a fascinating story. You'll have to tell me what you're writing about." Trowa merely nodded and took off his baseball cap, smoothing his hair off of his sweaty forehead. He had green eyes. Quatre was trying not to ogle, but really, he couldn't help but notice. Trowa had opened his mouth to say something, but just then the radio on his belt crackled. 

"Cathy's on Line 2, Trowa," came the operator's voice.

"I need to take that," he explained. "Nice to meet you, Quatre. If you guys will excuse me." And Trowa was gone, along with Quatre's fantasy about picking out china patterns. Cathy. Of course he was straight. All the hot ones were straight.

"A man of few words, that Trowa," Dr. Johansson explained. "But he sure knows his stuff. You'd do well to spend as much time with him as you can."

"Oh don't worry…" Quatre muttered.

()()()()()

When most people visit the hospital, they have something in their hands. Usually flowers, or a stuffed animal, maybe balloons or some forbidden sweet treat. When someone enters the hospital with nothing but his hands in his pockets, it usually indicates a frequent visitor. Someone who has endured too many nurse changes, too many midnight calls, too many bedside tears.

Quatre's hands were empty when he entered the Hope Gardens Perpetual Care Home. "Perpetual care" was a nice way of phrasing it. The fact was, the patient he was here to visit would never be coming out again outside of a body bag.

Quatre always felt shabby as soon as he passed through Hope Gardens' fence in his beat up '91 Honda. On the outskirts of Solomon, the combination nursing home and assisted living center had been built out of a converted Georgian mansion. From the outside, the enormous brick house looked as if it could hold all of Solomon's elderly and infirm and then some. A nine-foot brick fence with a wrought iron gate kept the idly curious out, and hid the splendid gardens within. One flower bed at Hope Gardens was the size of the backyard of the duplex where Quatre had grown up.

The huge double doors at the front entrance had been fitted with motion sensors in order to accommodate wheelchairs and walkers. Quatre smiled and waited as a white-clad orderly wheeled an old woman with dyed red hair out the front door. He recognized the woman. One of the nurses had once confided that she was Vesta Solomon Worth, one of _the _Solomon's. The ones the city was named after.

"You forgot to bring my umbrella," he heard the old woman say imperiously.

"Mrs. Worth, you didn't ask for your umbrella," the orderly replied good-naturedly.

Quatre didn't wait to see how this minor drama played out. He stepped inside and wondered for the hundredth time whether the place was soundproofed. He was careful not to let the door bang shut behind him in the sepulchral silence. Crossing Hope Garden's threshold was like entering a mausoleum. Not a bad analogy really. No matter how tasteful the décor, Quatre could never manage to forget how many of the patients here hovered close to death. The personal care home's lobby was done up more like a sitting room than a waiting room. A window, complete with cushioned window seat dominated the right side of the room. Overstuffed armchairs and wooden-legged couches surrounded an antique table. A vase of flowers had been placed in the very center of the round table. Without fail, they were always fresh. The first few times Quatre had had to fill out paperwork here, he had checked. He had read the plaque on the table once, too. It was from two centuries ago and probably cost more than everything Quatre owned combined. He had never seen a spot of dust on the table. Apparently elves appeared magically out of the dark wood paneling and cleaned the place up after a dusty person such as himself entered the room. He bet he could come in at any time, day or night, and the place would be spotless and dust-free.

A woman in a lavender business suit sat behind a round counter in the center of the room. Quatre knew her name was Lillian. Lillian knew his name was Quatre Winner. But no matter how many times Quatre came to visit, she still asked who he was here to see and then requested identification. He had tried greeting her using her given name a few times, but she had merely looked at him like he had carrots stuck up his nose. Today, he dutifully presented his ID and signed in.

Quatre knocked lightly on the door to room 2-6. He didn't expect an answer and he didn't get one.

He opened the door and peeked in. Even in sleep his mother's muscles moved involuntarily. One of Catherine Mason's arms writhed against the pillows, and her face twitched in what might be a smile. The sight of a smile on that wasted face might have been beautiful to Quatre, if the disease that had betrayed her body and muddled her mind wasn't forcing her mouth muscles to create that eerie expression over, and over, and over again.

A chest of drawers in one corner of the room held over a dozen framed photographs – pictures of him and his three sisters, of his step-father Frank and of his grandparents and aunts and uncles. The nurses sat a different picture by his mother's bed every day. Today's picture showed Catherine and Frank on their honeymoon. They had stayed at a cabin on Lake Timberland. Quatre and his older sister Iria had stayed with their grandmother, in that last summer before she died.

Frank had been substantially older than his mother, but back then, hell, even now, there weren't that many men willing to take in a single twenty-three year old mother of two. Iria had been seven and Quatre had been five when they married. His younger sisters, Delilah, named after their grandmother, and Violet, whom everyone called Scout, had come along a few years later.

Frank had died in an accident the year Quatre was seventeen. He had been trying to put just a few more miles under the tires of the eighteen wheel truck he drove for a living. Time was money, and Quatre was approaching college age. It could have been much worse. Frank could have had the heart attack behind the wheel while driving in rush hour traffic instead of speeding through the foggy Ohio River Valley at 4am. He died just the same. And his mother's Huntington's Disease, which she had been managing to hide from her children, flared with a vengeance under the stress of her husband's death.

Their mother had deteriorated rapidly. Within the year, she was bedridden. Within three years, they could no longer take care of her at home. They had no choice but to put her in Solomon's public, income-assisted nursing home. The squat gray building in downtown Solomon smelled like urine, sweat and death and was about as inviting as tomb. That year had been hell on Quatre. They had endured substandard care for their mother until the summer he turned twenty-two. Then, miraculously, his mother qualified for some government program that allowed her to move to Hope Gardens. Quatre and Iria had worried at first that some mistake had been made and that, at any time, they would suddenly have to pay off Hope Gardens' enormous bill. But the bill never came and through the years they grew used to visiting their mother at the converted estate.

Instead of college, Iria worked two jobs to care for Quatre, Delilah and Scout. Quatre managed a few semesters of community college before falling into the same rut. Delilah was married now, at nineteen. Sixteen year old Scout still lived with Iria. She was still in high school and she had a baby due in the fall. Iria herself had the eyes of an old woman at age twenty-eight. No, maybe they hadn't done that great without a parent's guidance. But they'd survived.

There was one consolation. In 1993, scientists had come up with a genetic test to determine whether relatives of Huntington's patients had the gene. Though there had been a 50/50 chance, Quatre and his three sisters had been spared. The disease would die with their mother. And the disease would die soon.

Quatre watched as his mother's face seemed to smooth and her eyes opened. Somehow, she managed to become more beautiful as she wasted away. Her skin grew paler, her blue eyes more luminous. When she looked at him, he barely noticed the twitching and writhing muscles that had become one of the hallmarks of her disease.

"Frank?" she said feebly.

Quatre held one of her slim hands in his. "It's Quatre, mama."

She was beginning to forget him now. On his last two visits she had mistaken her only son for her dead husband. He knew he couldn't blame her for the havoc the disease had wreaked on her mind, but it still hurt. Nonetheless, she squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. Catherine dropped off to sleep again soon after. According to the nurses, she barely awoke at all anymore. The resident doctor gave her months, maybe a year. When the eerie twitching smiles began again, Quatre slipped his hand out of his mother's and crept silently out the door.

()()()()()

Duo sidled up to Wufei, who was in his usual position at the bar at Tangle. The braided man's eyes were dilated wide as saucers, and the implications weren't lost on the Chinese man.

"What you up to, Wu?" Duo took a seat beside his friend, and then spun around once on the barstool, ending up with his head provocatively thrown back and cocked to one side, looking up at Wufei. The Chinese man couldn't deny that the come-hither look in those violet bedroom eyes was a tempting sight. Very tempting. But unlike nearly everyone else in the room, Wufei had developed immunity to Duo's charms.

"Waiting for Quatre. Not that you'd care," he couldn't stop himself from adding.

Duo put a hand to his heart and replied mockingly, "Now 'Fei, that hurts me very deeply. You know Quatre has been my _bestest_ friend since we were twelve years old. Why would you say such mean things?" A sly grin crept over Duo's face, his dilated eyes widened. "Could it be that you're jealous because Quatre loves me best?"

Wufei would have knocked that smug look off of Duo's face, if it weren't for the fact that Duo had about five inches and five hundred trips to the gym over him. Besides, Duo was high. He probably wouldn't even remember what he had said in the morning. The Chinese man contented himself with glaring at his adversary. And over his shoulder, there was Quatre. Before he could help himself, Wufei blushed. Maybe Duo's words had been a little more on the mark than he was willing to admit. Quatre's attention, though, was fixed firmly on Duo. He was taking the drink out of Duo's hand.

The blonde man sighed. "You don't need any more of that, it looks like you've had enough already. He straightened the crooked collar on Duo's shirt before noticing his other friend. "Oh hi, Wufei. Duo, do you want me to drive you home?" Wufei managed a belated wave after Quatre had already turned his attention back to his best friend.

Duo had been uncommonly docile during Quatre's fussing. "Oh no, I think the party's just getting started. Me and Wufei here were just talking about you."

Quatre shot a glance at Wufei. "Oh really?"

"I was telling him how we've been friends for fourteen years. Isn't that right?"

"Well yeah," Quatre said, a bit perplexed. "Wufei knows that. Everybody knows we've been best friends since junior high."

"I wanted to tell him how we became such good friends."

Quatre sat down on a bar stool beside Duo and said patiently, "Wufei, Duo and I became friends during Senora Noventa's Spanish class. She kept partnering us up to do these awful skits about colors, and pets and crap like that. We both hated it." Quatre flashed a smile at Wufei. "And that's the spectacular history behind the Duo and Quatre Show. Happy, Duo?" His friend's color didn't look all that great and he was ready to give him a ride home. But Duo, dilated eyes sparkling mischievously now, had other ideas. He threw one arm around Quatre, pulling him close.

"I meant we should tell him about the first time I kissed you."

It didn't escape Wufei's notice that Quatre seemed to freeze in place.

"I… Why should we tell him about that? There isn't much to tell really, Wufei. It was in the boy's locker room at school. Pretty stupid place for a first kiss if you ask me."

"I didn't think it was stupid." Duo's voice had taken on a husky timbre. Wufei watched as Quatre, still nestled in the crook of Duo's arm, unnecessarily smoothed a strand of hair behind his ear.

"It wasn't long after I transferred to McKinley Junior High. We had gym class together and for some reason this guy, Jerry Barnes, had it out for Cat. Actually, Jerry Barnes wanted you Cat."

"Oh, he did not." But there was no vehemence behind the denial. Apparently they had been over this a thousand times.

Duo ignored him, attention fixed on Wufei. "Well, that day, to prove his love for Quatre, Jerry Barnes shoved him into a locker. I was in the shower, I didn't see it happen. Sorry, Cat," he said softly, turning and resting his forehead against his friend's. For a moment, the old Duo was there behind those wide, dilated pupils.

"It's ok," Quatre said rather hoarsely. Hilde had come up to them behind the bar and was listening now, too. Wufei watched as Quatre attempted to sink into the floor. The Chinese man wanted to leave, get up and say "to hell with it." But Duo's voice was like a snake charmer's, and he couldn't seem to tear himself away.

"I came out of the shower and everybody else had left. The last bell had rang, you know? Outside the doors you could hear everybody going to their buses. Quatre was sitting there on one of those red mesh benches holding his mouth. I made him take his hand away and…" Duo looked sideways, into memory. "There was a line of blood down his chin. It was so red against his pale skin..."

Quatre interrupted. "Duo, you're not looking so good. Drink your water. Better yet, let's get you home."

Duo ignored him, dilated eyes still firmly fixed on Wufei's, as if daring him to look away. "I licked my finger and wiped the blood off his chin. Then I couldn't help myself, I wanted to touch his lips and the curve of his cheek and his eyebrows. He was so… young, sitting there with a few drops of blood still on his mouth. I just wanted to…" Duo stopped. Whether he realized what he was saying or just could not articulate his feelings they would never know. "So I kissed him. And he _loved _it." A saucy leer took the place of Duo's formerly dreamy expression.

Wufei and Hilde both glanced at Quatre, who was now intently focused on something on the other end of the barroom.

"We were making out like two wild animals. He loved it so much he ended up pushing me into a locker. I swear I saw stars for a minute. But that was when our gym coach came in and told us to break it up. And I almost got in trouble for the blood on Quatre's lip!" Duo laughed, more like an Ecstasy-induced giggle. Wufei managed to tear his gaze away from Duo now long enough to watch Quatre as the blonde looked hard at the floor. The Chinese man felt a small twinge of satisfaction when Quatre twisted so that Duo's arm was no longer around his shoulder.

But Duo didn't even appear to notice. "There he is!" He pointed to a boy who looked about eighteen and had artfully placed glitter body paint where his shirt should have been. "I thought he'd left." He planted a quick kiss on Quatre's cheek. "Don't wait up."

Quatre put a finger to his lips. Tonight Duo had put one of his most treasured memories, one of the most intimate moments of his life on display in a bar. He couldn't count how many times he had dreamed about that day, about that kiss. About Duo's hand slipping inside the waist band of his sweatpants. About the faint taste of salt and blood. Quatre could taste it even now… He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"He's an asshole," Wufei said.

"He was high, he didn't know what he was saying," Hilde said at the same time.

"Why do you always cover for him?" Wufei snapped. "I don't know why you put up with his shit, Cat."

"It's Quatre."

Wufei looked like he had been stung. "Fine, Quatre," he said tightly. "I'm… I'm through for tonight. Good night, Hilde. Good night, Quatre," he said with stiff formality.

"Wait! I'm going too," Quatre decided. "I'll walk out with you, ok, Wu?" He was very proud of himself when he managed to cross Tangle's threshold without once looking back at Duo.

()()()()()

_A/N: I have a problem and I'd like some reader advice. Originally, I was going to use Heero as another "villain" in this story. He was to be a Duo love interest. Lately though, I've come to respect Heero a bit more and I'm not sure he's as villainous as I originally thought. What do you guys think? Do you want Duo's love interest to be Heero, another minor GW character (like what I've done with Otto), or an OC? Feedback on this is greatly appreciated!_


	4. Things We Never Say

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 2&4, 2 (The "&'s" mean friendship. This site likes to get rid of plus signs; multiple pairings to come later, incl. 3x4, 2x1 and possibly 2x4?? -- that is the question, now isn't it?)_

_Warnings for this chapter: Rated R for language _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in. Oh, and the basic premise is similar to Queer as Folk for a reason! I don't own that either!_

_Archive: If you'd like to, just ask; Archived at The Ventilation Shaft (see my profile for address)_

_A/N: Thanks to Strey for the beta read and thanks again to my wonderful reviewers. I love you, guys! And I'm not just saying that! If you were here I would give you all presents! _

_A/N 2: Why am I picking on Otto in this chapter, you say? Erm… well, I pictured my minor villain with a receding hairline and Otto and his widow's peak sort of fit the bill. That and his name is short and catchy, and it rather rolls of the tongue don't you think? Otto Otto Otto. See? So, to put it plainly, Otto is extremely OC. _

_A/N 3: This is one more short chapter to remind readers again why Quatre does indeed persist in loving Duo even though he treats him like crap half the time. In the next chapter, though, their comfortable world starts getting shaken up. _

_Sooti__: Thanks for the high praise! And for the Heero advice. I have finally decided what to do with him and he's going to show up in either Chapter 5 or Chapter 6. _

_Tardis__: I'm trying to get away from the Queer as Folk-ness as of now. I believe this chapter starts the break. Actually, let me know if I'm succeeding, if you don't mind! Oh, and thanks for the typo advice. I keep meaning to go back in there and edit it and I keep forgetting!_

**Chapter 4 – Things We Never Say**

_The heart has reasons that reason knows nothing of. – Blaise Pascal, Mathematician_

Quatre was used to Duo leaving his side soon after they stepped into Tangle. But the prey he usually stalked was some beautiful newcomer, not Hilde. It didn't take Quatre long to spot the huge chalkboard sign above the bar and then all the pieces fell into place.

"You named a drink after me." Duo was flexing his hands, a sign of extreme annoyance that Quatre knew well. "Who told you that you could name a drink after me?"

All three of them involuntarily glanced up at the glaring red letters. "The DUO MAX – get a little taste of the hottest bastard in Solomon."

"You did, Duo!" The blue-haired bartender's face was turning pink and she seemed a little flustered at his outburst.

"I was high!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

"Because you're a bartender at Tangle! You know what high looks like. Now take it down!" Duo demanded.

"I couldn't, it's been our best seller tonight. Everybody wants a little piece of you, Duo." Quatre admired the fact that Hilde had had the foresight to say just the right thing. Duo was rolling his eyes now instead of cracking his knuckles.

"Well, you did call me a bastard. I appreciate the sentiment… Maybe you can keep it just for the night?"

"We'll see," Hilde smiled.

The fate of the Duo Max was soon sealed when a slender man with long dark hair and Mayan features tapped on the bar and, looking deliberately into Duo's eyes, said huskily, "I'll have a Duo Max." Quatre smiled at his friend's luck and left them whispering together at the bar.

He tried to decide whether to join Wufei on the dance floor or not. It was so rare that his formidable Chinese friend danced with anyone that he didn't want to ruin the moment. On the other hand, he felt an almost protective urge to gauge the intentions of the small, blue-eyed blonde who was shimmying suggestively against his friend's crotch. Quatre raised an eyebrow. Wufei caught his eye, reddening a little. He'd been at Tangle for five minutes and had already caught two of his friends blushing. Wufei started to excuse himself from his companion and so he and Quatre ended up having a long-distance conversation of hand gestures that ended up translating to something like:

_"I'll come have a drink with you." _

_"You most certainly will not! You'll dance!" _

_"But…"  
  
_

_"No buts! He's hot! Take him home!"_

Quatre turned around to go back to the bar and get a drink and nearly bumped into Otto. An Otto who had apparently been dancing behind him long enough to work up a sweat.

"You look good enough to eat, Quatre."

"Otto, I…"

Otto was hugging his waist now, eager fingers entwining in the belt loops of his blue jeans.

Quatre disentangled himself and put two hands up in order to preserve his personal space. The nearest dancing couple looked at them interestedly.

"Look, Otto, we have to talk. I'm sorry if I led you on. But I'm really not interested in anything more than…"

"A one night stand?" Otto said acidly. "Oh, make that two nights. Is that it? I'm only good enough for you when other plans fall through? Where is Duo Maxwell tonight, anyway?"

Duo had been practically plastered to the member of the Mayan pantheon at the bar. But, even though he was across the room, his eyes flicked to Quatre like they did a million unconscious times each night. Hilde, who had been enjoying the spectacle at the bar, followed his gaze. They both saw Otto talking animatedly to a Quatre who still had two hands defensively in front of him. Duo knew that look. His best friend was politely but firmly turning Otto down. And from Otto's angry hand gestures, he was having none of it.

"This is getting out of hand," Duo growled. "I gotta go, sorry." Hilde shrugged at the Mayan-featured man who morosely gulped the rest of his Duo Max.

The crowd parted for Duo, and Quatre suddenly found the space between him and Otto filled with his very pissed off best friend.

"What the fuck part of 'no you can't grope me in the bathroom' don't you understand, asshole?" Duo had entered the space between Otto and Quatre so fast that his braid hadn't even had time to settle on his back. His violet eyes had narrowed, and there was a relaxed, almost feral look on his face. Like he was willing to take this as far as it could go, and he would be sure to enjoy it.

Otto was drunk. His eyes were red and he was swaying a little unsteadily on his feet even though he and Quatre had stopped dancing minutes ago. Drunk or no, he managed to raise himself to full height and go nose-to-nose with the braided man.

"This is between your friend and me! Everybody knows you don't want him so I don't see how you have any say in the matter."

Otto didn't even see the punch coming. In his drunken state, the blow, which had connected soundly with his left cheekbone, was enough to send him crashing to the dance floor.

Duo flexed his right hand a couple of times. "I'd forgotten how much throwing a punch hurts your fist," he said conversationally to Quatre.

Quatre, after remembering how to close his mouth, rubbed the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. "What the fuck did you do that for? I was handling it, Duo. Christ, you could go to jail. You could…"

Duo cut him off with a firm kiss to the lips. After a long minute, they broke apart and grinned at one another. A bouncer, by order of Hilde, had already dragged Otto away. Sometimes it paid to be so well known that you had a drink named after you. Duo put an arm around Quatre's waist and pressed their bodies together, moving both of them in time to the music.

"What about Montezuma over there?"

"Montezuma was Aztec. Haven't you been reading your _National Geographics_?"

"Sheesh! Yes! Why does everybody keep bringing that up lately?"

They danced together wordlessly for a few more minutes. Duo's hands replaced Otto's in Quatre's belt loops and the blonde leaned into the touch. Duo's mouth was against his ear, his hair. Hot breath seared him like a desert wind. For as long as they had known one another, Duo had always been hot to the touch.

A whisper into his hair. "You know I love you, Quatre. Right?" It was always a question with Duo. Do you know I love you? Do you remember? Have I treated you too badly and made you forget?

_Do you still love me?_

"I know. I love you, too." Quatre looked up to find Duo looking down at him. There was no narcotic glitter in his eyes, no teasing sparkle. It was just Duo. The boy – the man – Quatre had loved for over half his life.

The song changed to something faster, but neither felt the particular urge to let go or to pick up the pace.

"I'm sorry about what Otto said." Quatre wasn't sure why he felt the need to apologize. What Otto had said was technically true. But nobody had ever actually dared to put it into words in front of both of them before.

Duo hugged Quatre tighter for a second. Then he shrugged, flashing Quatre a charming smile. "That bastard? He was so drunk I couldn't understand a word out of his mouth."

Quatre exhaled and nodded. That said and understood between them, they danced together for the rest of the night.


	5. Geography of the Heart

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 2&4, 2&4&5&H&S, 3x4; ("and" signs indicate friendship, this site likes to delete plus signs); 2x1 and possibly 2x4 to come later___

_Warnings for this chapter: Rated R for language, maybe some ultralight lime if you're sensitive (Wait, if you're sensitive, why are you reading this?)___

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in. Oh, and the basic premise is similar to Queer as Folk for a reason! I don't own that either!___

_Archive: If you'd like to, just ask. I probably won't say no; Archived at The Ventilation Shaft (see my profile for address)_

_A/N's: Thanks to Rocaddict, my long-lost beta reader! Also to Strey for allowing me to bounce ideas off of him even though some of this stuff squicks him. And to dreadpiratejanah who invariably boosts my ego._

_Tardis__: Thanks, as always, for the long, thoughtful review. Behold the 3x4 action. To you, from me, for your reading pleasure!_

_Anna May: Thanks for reviewing! Great to hear from a new reader!_

_Merit and RocAddict: Mustn't forget to thank the two old standbys. Glomps all around!_

()()()()()

**Chapter 5 – Geography of the Heart**

_I've tasted other lips I thought were true. I have looked into the eyes I thought were you. – John Prine_

Two weeks passed and Quatre found himself working with Trowa almost constantly. Today they were in one of the three-sided enclosures that dotted the zoo grounds sorting different types of grains into bins. This sort of thankless work wasn't exactly what Quatre had expected when he had landed the job at the zoo, but then again, what had he thought? That he would parade around in a safari hat and field glasses, handing out lollipops to the swarms of little children who called him Uncle Quatre and tugged on his sleeve while he dispensed jewels of wisdom like, "Did you know that if a man could jump as well as a flea, in proportion to his size, he would be able to jump the length of a football field?"

That was true. A man with flea-like abilities could jump the entire length of a football field. Quatre glanced over at Trowa who was working diligently in front of a tall red bin. He wasn't even a football field away, but Quatre would volunteer to jump him anytime. The fact that Dr. Johansson continued to push them together hadn't helped matters any. As he followed the soft-spoken, green-eyed man around the zoo, his strong attraction had developed into a full-on crush. Even the weather was working against him. It was unseasonably warm for March, with heavy coats coming off in favor of thin t-shirts. Quatre's crush, damn him, preferred the tight, stretchy kind. So when Trowa flexed to open the top latch on the animal habitat gates, Quatre was right there next to him, unable to tear his eyes away from the way the green-eyed man's t-shirt rode up to expose his perfectly sculpted abs. When Trowa bent over to pick something up (the blonde couldn't bring himself to remind his co-worker to lift from the knees), Quatre was there. When he stretched, tightly muscled arms flexed behind his head after a long day's work, there was Quatre, controlling his drool reflex by sheer willpower alone.

But looks weren't enough for Quatre. They never had been. It was Trowa's love for his work that really killed Quatre. His co-worker had graduated from a preeminent biology program. He had worked with lions in Kenya while writing his master's thesis and sometimes, when they weren't that busy, he would tell Quatre stories from his days spent in the Masai Mara Game Preserve. He showed a genuine affection for his lions, referring to them more as family members than research subjects, and sometimes Quatre had to interrupt and ask which multi-syllabic Kenyan name belonged to a lion and which belonged to one of the gamekeepers. Trowa had been to places and seen things that Quatre had only read about in _National Geographic_. Of course he was going to crush on the guy!

Unfortunately though, his crush was turning him into a delusional wreck evidenced by the fact that every once in a while, he imagined that Trowa could like him, too. There were small signs that even Quatre couldn't write off. A long look, a hand left too long on his shoulder, a mischievous wink at Dr. Johansson's expense. And Quatre didn't think he was imagining the small, slow smile that Trowa flashed just for him when they both arrived in the break shed in the mornings. Trowa certainly didn't smile like that at any of the women. But then again, all this had to be in Quatre's traitorous mind. He couldn't bring himself to ask, but he was pretty sure that Trowa had a girlfriend. And judging by the amount of times per day the mysterious Cathy called him, Trowa was kept on a pretty tight leash.

Hilde had suggested setting elaborate traps in order to discern whether Trowa was gay or not. Sally had advised that Quatre just go for it and ask him out. Wufei had remained oddly silent whenever Trowa was mentioned. Duo, naturally, had told Quatre to "grab the hottie by the shirt and throw him against the tiger cage."

"But that could be dangerous!" Quatre had said.

"The danger is what makes it fun."

"But I don't even know if he's gay!" Quatre had wailed.

"Everybody's gay," Duo had winked at him. "If you play your cards right."

"Maybe for you," Quatre had said mournfully. At that point in the conversation, Duo had just finished regaling them with the tale of how he'd seduced his boss's married son at their company anniversary party. If he could only bottle Duo's charm and use some of it on Trowa…

"You're doing it again," Trowa's low, patient voice interrupted him from his reverie.

Looking down at the grain bags and the bins, Quatre realized that he had mixed the wrong types of grain for the second time.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! God, I can be so stupid."

Trowa's eyes narrowed and he put a hand to Quatre's shoulder. "That's not true. You're doing a great job, Quatre. Here…" Trowa took one of the heavy bags of grain. "I'll do these today, it can be tricky to measure out just the right amount of this sticky kind."

The other man's easy competence was daunting even on Quatre's best days. Today, though, wasn't one of those days. He and Iria had gotten into a silly argument over Scout's curfew the night before. Earlier, he had gone to Hope Gardens on his lunch hour to visit his mother and she hadn't awakened for his visit. And now he found himself unable to accomplish the simplest of tasks in front of his dead sexy, mind-numbingly intelligent, co-worker. The co-worker who had just paid him a rare compliment, too.

Nevertheless, some peevish part of his brain wanted to prove that, if nothing else went right today, he could at least succeed at pouring some goddamn grain into some goddamn bins.

"I can do it!" he muttered exasperatedly and yanked the bag away from Trowa, which only ended up causing a handful of grain to spill down his shirtfront. It was the sticky kind, too. Crap.

Quatre closed his eyes to try and get his embarrassment in check. When he opened them again, he was amazed to find Trowa eyeing him amusedly, a small smirk quirking his lips. Without a word about the outburst, the green-eyed man closed the space between them and began to swipe at the sticky grains clinging to Quatre's t-shirt.

The blonde man was suddenly very aware that there was a hole the size of a pencil eraser in Trowa's jeans, a couple of inches to the left of the zipper. Trowa's capable hands grazed a nipple through the thin cotton and Quatre was abruptly wondering if his little finger would fit into that hole and just how hard he would have to tug to make it wider. He wouldn't have to move his hand very far at all...

Trowa managed to pick most of the sticky grains off of Quatre's shirt while Quatre stood and gawked at him. The green-eyed man gave his t-shirt one last good swipe and stepped back to his own bin.

Then the unthinkable happened.

"Listen, Quatre, I was wondering…"

That wasn't like Trowa to use phrases like 'I was wondering.' Usually when he wanted to say something, he just came out and said it.

"…Do you want to go out sometime?"

Quatre's mouth fell open and glanced over his shoulder to double check that no one was behind him. "You're asking me?"

Trowa brushed a hand through his bangs, a nervous gesture Quatre had come to recognize. The smirk faded from his face. "Well, yeah, I was..."

"But what about Cathy?"

It was Trowa's turn to be puzzled. "My sister?"

Quatre did drop the grain bag now. "Cathy is your sister? Cathy that calls you thirty times a day?"

"Look, I know that must seem a little strange, but it's a long story. And I'll tell you all about it." That smirk was back. "But only if you'll go out with me tomorrow night."

Quatre felt himself flushing a little. "Well if that's the only way to assuage my curiosity I guess I could suffer through one date…" They smiled at each other, a quick curving of lips, both looking away at the same instant.

Trowa was shaking his head. "God, no wonder you didn't notice me flirting with you. Wait… you thought I was straight even after I told you about Abban?"

Quatre picked up the grain bag, this time managing to measure the sticky grains without difficulty. This also allowed him to avoid Trowa's eyes. "I erm… I thought Abban was a lion."

Trowa raised one eyebrow at him, but he was smiling ever so slightly. "That's ok," he said, completely deadpan. "So did Cathy."

This time, when green eyes met blue, both men burst out laughing.

()()()()()

Quatre hadn't meant to tell them about the date that night when they got together at Tangle. He planned to go on the date and then tell them. But they were all there, even Sally, who had been working a crazy schedule of split shifts in her job as an EMT. And then there was Duo, who knew with sixth sense certainty that something was up.

"So…." Duo spun around on his barstool to face Quatre. "How's Trowa?"

Quatre tried and failed to hide the grin that threatened to split his face in half.

"He asked me out!"

Hilde immediately squealed and lunged across the bar to hug him. Sally, after one sideways glance at Hilde, gave him a rather more subdued hug.

"It's about damn time," Wufei said noncommittally.

Duo arched his brows. "You mean you didn't ask him out? You waited around for him to ask you out like some woman?"

Hilde punched his arm. "Hey now!"

Duo's words stung a little. Of course, he had known they would. "You know I wasn't sure if he was gay, Duo. But hey," Quatre shrugged. "Turns out that Cathy is his sister. He promised to tell me all about it if I agreed to come out with him."

"Ooooh. I knew he liked you! I just knew it!" Hilde sighed before yelling "In a minute!" to an older guy who was banging a fist on the bar. "So when's the big event?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Oh god. We need to go shopping. Will we have time?" Hilde looked at the clock as if they would hit the stores right that minute.

"I think I can dress myself. We're just doing dinner and a movie. It's not like he's taking me ballroom dancing."

"Dinner and a movie," said Duo, swirling the last contents of his glass. "That's original."

This elicited irate looks from all the friends.

"I don't know," Wufei said caustically. "Maybe after they've dated for awhile Trowa could take Quatre to the same bar every night."

Duo downed the last of his drink and replied sardonically, "I never said I was trying to impress anybody." A wolfish smile. "How about you?"

"It's an IMAX movie, anyway" Quatre interrupted before Wufei could do more than just glare at Duo.

"What's it about? Lions?" Duo teased. His good humor seemed to have returned.

"No, it's about um… wildfires," Quatre lied, suddenly feeling the need to defend Trowa from his best friend. That was why they had decided on dinner and a movie in the first place. Trowa had offered to take him to Tangle. He had heard Quatre plan to meet Duo there numerous times. But Quatre had refused. It was just that… Well, he didn't know what it was. He knew Trowa was different. And a gut feeling told him that if he put Duo and Trowa in a room together too soon that there would be an explosive situation.

It had always been this way between them. After fourteen years of wanting more than Duo had been able to give, Quatre was just starting to give up hope. Duo was like the mythical City of El Dorado. Remote, mysterious and full of dark places. Quatre could buy a compass, pack his bags. Hell, he could even get some old prospector to sell him a map. But he would never get there. Not really. All he could do was live out his whole life in hope of somebody reaching El Dorado. Along the way he could travel to some of the other wondrous cities of the world, but in the back of his mind, El Dorado was the only place he would ever truly want to be. The day he gave up hope would be the day he died.

Yeah, Quatre knew his cause was hopeless. But he could not have asked for a more beautiful dream.

Then there was Trowa. Trowa definitely wasn't Main Street. He was exotic Nairobi. He was the open savanna. It took an open mind and a leap of faith, but Quatre could get there.

And that was all anyone could ask for really.

()()()()()

Wufei started to leave Tangle not long after Quatre, but an obviously drunk Duo blocked him at the door.

"If you're ready to climb down off that cross now, Wufei, I'll help you rip the nails out."

Wufei gritted his teeth. "What the fuck are you talking about?" They were standing in the doorway of the bar forcing traffic to divert around them. Duo grabbed Wufei's arm and dragged him back into the crowd. "Dance with me and I'll tell you."

Eyeing him suspiciously, Wufei complied. It was so rare that Duo wanted to talk to him one-on-one that his curiosity was piqued. One the dance floor, Duo gyrated to the beat and then wrapped his arms around Wufei's shoulders. The Chinese man tried to shrug him off until he realized that Duo was going to talk into his ear.

Even more uncomfortable was what Duo had to say. "I think this Trowa guy could be good for Quatre. Don't ruin this for him, ok?"

Wufei did pull away then. "Who are you trying to convince, Duo?" he snapped. "Me or yourself?"

The music swirled on around them but Duo and Wufei now stood stock still in the middle of the dance floor.

There was that wolfish smile again. "Don't turn this around on me, 'Fei. I know how you feel about him. I've known for months. He doesn't see you as anything more than a friend. It's your own fault if you let it break your heart."

Wufei scowled at his nemesis. "So what you're telling me is that I'm weak for loving him. So does that make you strong because you don't love him?"

Duo's eyes narrowed. "You don't know anything about how much I love him. You have no idea."

"If you love him so much, then why do you treat him like shit?"

The pause in the loud music was the only reason Wufei was able to hear the soft reply.

"I never said I was any good at it."

For a moment there, Wufei was sure he had heard tears in Duo's voice.

Nah, must have been the music.

()()()()()

Trowa had only moved to Solomon after he got back from Kenya and Quatre soon found out that the biologist had never graced Tangle with his presence. Heads turned when the green-eyed man walked in the door and a beaming Quatre didn't even try to hide his smug expression.

For once, Hilde had a weekend night off. She, Wufei and Sally were sitting together and Quatre found it a bit disconcerting to see his spiky haired friend patronizing the bar rather than tending it. Duo, who had known this was the night Quatre was going to introduce his new boyfriend to all his friends, was nowhere in sight. The blonde didn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Quatre touched Trowa's arm lightly and nodded toward the trio at the bar. He found himself inordinately pleased when Trowa slipped an arm around his waist as they made their way over. He felt oddly nervous about the encounter.

"Hey guys. This is Trowa Barton."

Trowa nodded to all of them and the group quickly made a little circle around the newcomer.

"So this is the famous Trowa. I'm Sally Po." She stuck a hand out for him to shake. Trowa did and she commented, "Firm handshake. I like that in a man."

"But you like it better in a woman," Quatre teased.

Sally shrugged and winked at Trowa. She could really be quite charming when she wasn't threatening to bench press them all.

"Sally's an EMT," Quatre explained. "If you stay on her good side, she'll give you an IV when you have a hangover."

Trowa smiled. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

"Ooooh. He has a sexy voice, Quatre."

That was, of course, Hilde.

Quatre laughed. "Hilde, he's right here. Trowa, this is Hilde, my friend since high school. Unfortunately we haven't developed telepathy yet or you wouldn't have just heard her trying to steal you from me."

"Not possible," Trowa commented, and then he leaned in and gave Hilde a peck on the cheek. Quatre could have sworn his friend turned a little red. Sally must have noticed it too because she was giving Hilde that special scowl reserved for girly behavior.

"This must be Wufei," Trowa nodded at the other man, who bowed his head a little in greeting.

"Nice to meet you. Wufei Chang."

"Trowa Barton," he answered automatically. They didn't shake hands, but then, it wasn't expected.

It was just then that a strong arm grabbed Quatre across the chest, dragging him backwards a few feet. Unthinkingly, Quatre leaned into the touch and laughed. "And this Trowa, is my best friend, Duo."

Trowa didn't think he should offer a hand to shake, especially since the recipient of said gesture had both arms already occupied wrapping around his boyfriend.

So instead he introduced himself again, nodding at Duo.

Duo let Trowa's introduction hand in the air for a few seconds. From behind Quatre, his eyes ran down, then up the green-eyed man's lanky form. "Duo Maxwell."

Quatre squirmed out of Duo's grip and placed an arm around Trowa's waist. It was only then that he realized that Duo was naked from the waist up. Blue eyes flickered from the hardened brown nipples to the sculpted abs to the thin trail that began just below Duo's belly button and disappeared into his low-slung leather pants. But ever more remarkable – Quatre had to catch his breath – his best friend's braid was unbound. Hair the color of mahogany hung loosely down his back and framed his slender chest. As far as Quatre knew, this was the first time Duo had ever unfastened his braid in public. Truthfully, he could count on two hands the number of times he had seen Duo's hair down in private. And what a sight it was. Given a minute, he could probably describe each incidence in detail.

One long silky lock snaked around Duo's neck and down over his heart and for one instant, Quatre's hand moved on its own accord to stroke it. He hoped he had caught himself before anyone could notice.

They had all been standing there for a frozen moment in time. Maybe they were waiting for sparks to fly. Duo broke the tension.

"Nice to meet you, Trowa." He flashed them all an impish smile and disappeared back into the sweaty throng of bodies on the dance floor. Quatre's eyes followed his movements until he fell in beside a tall, gorgeous and generously muscled dancer. They all recognized him. He was almost as notorious as Duo for sleeping his way through Solomon's gay male population.

Quatre laughed in spite of himself as Wufei speculated loudly. "I can't believe he's going after Sven. He's a notorious top. Wonder how they'll work it out?"

Quatre shrugged. "I know how they'll work it out. Sven will bottom or Duo will go home."

Wufei, Sally and Hilde all nodded.

Trowa snaked his arms around Quatre's waist, claiming Duo's former position. "That's all well and good, but…" he whispered. The sound was a low growl in Quatre's ear. The blonde melted into the body behind him as a long, dexterous finger lightly ran a fingernail over the line bare of bare skin between his waistband and his jeans.

"…The only person in this room whose sex life I give a damn about is yours," that sexy voice considered matter-of-factly. Quatre felt a knee slide in between his thighs, forcing them to part slightly. "We need to get out of here. Now."

Quatre leaned back, nuzzling his cheek against Trowa's, cat-like. "Yes…"

Across the room, Duo noted their departure by grabbing Sven's shoulders roughly and whispering something into his ear.

Neither best friend slept at home that night.

()()()()()

_A/N: Next chapter… Heero shows up. _


	6. The Man Who Was Not There

**Tangled Up in Blue **

**By: Sintari **

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 2&4, 2 later 3x4x3, 1x2, 5x?x5, possible 2x4x2?? _

_Warnings: R, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, implied past non-con & D/S (nothing graphic on those last two, they are plot devices!) _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: Gundanium Line, The Ventilation Shaft, _

_Author's Notes: Thanks to Rocaddict for the beta read and to Strey & Dreadpiratejanah for the much needed ego boosts. _

_A/N 2: I think Duo's background will be obvious to most everyone, but just so you know there's a bit of reading between the lines required in this chapter. _

_Anna May: LOL Check out the "Pairings" above. Wufei will get his man, its just who it is that remains to be seen. _

_Tardis: I just love your reviews! Their so detailed and enthusiastic! I think you hit the nail on the head when you said Duo "won't allow himself to be happy." Hopefully this chapter will answer some questions about Duo's demons._

_Merit: I'm so glad you liked Trowa. I was so worried about writing him! For some reason he's the hardest pilot for me to write. Hope you like Heero just as well!_

_**Note to all readers at this site:** The last portion of this chapter is edited in order to comply with this site's decency policy. See my profile for links to the unedited version. _

()()()()()

**Chapter 6 – The Man Who Was Not There**

As I was going up the stair,

I met a man who was not there,

He was not there again today,

I wish that man would go away.

Hugh Mearns, from "The Psychoed"

Duo Maxwell's sixth grade teacher had high expectations for him. Well, at least the kind of high expectations first year teachers have for kids on Free Lunch who get off the bus with no coat in December. She was an idealist, and she was prepared to treat the mountain kids from Black Cove the same way she treated the kids who lived on Main Street. On their first day in class she had her students arrange the desk into a circle. For equality, she said. Naturally, the first rule of her classroom was the ubiquitous "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." What she failed to understand just yet was that kids are like wild animals. They can divide the weak from the strong faster than you can say "tax bracket."

When Duo began to get in fights, rather than punishment, young Miss Taylor would keep him after class and offer him her brand of /_sympathy/_ and /_understanding./_ Middle Grades Education 101. "Are you getting enough to eat?" "Are any of the other kids picking on you?" "How are your mom and dad getting along?"

She was filled with righteous indignation spiced with a hint of satisfaction the day she finally wrung out a confession.

She imagined herself an avenging angel as she called Duo's mother and the police. But his parents denied the accusations, shook hands with the deputy on the call (an old high school football buddy) and that was that. The accident occurred a month or two after that. Then the year ended and Duo was promoted to junior high despite falling grades and his teacher's misgivings.

In her second year of teaching, Miss Taylor didn't bother to move the desks into a circle.

()()()()()

Twelve-year-old Duo had been listening from the barn when the deputy asked. "Mrs. Maxwell, is it true?"

"The boy lies," Miriam had answered. Her voice calm, unwavering. "My husband would never... Never."

()()()()()

A month. Every time he looked at his green-eyed lover, Quatre still had a hard time believing that he and Trowa had been dating for a month. Mother Nature was obviously as flabbergasted as he was, because, while March had been uncommonly mild, Solomon was now recovering from a record-breaking mid-April snowstorm. Not that that mattered to Quatre. All the more reason to cuddle, as far as he was concerned.

And he wished that was what they were doing tonight, instead of popping into Tangle. But today was a Duo and Quatre holiday. Starting in January, their calendars may as well have read New Year's Day, Quatre's birthday, Valentine's Day, Saint Patrick's Day, Easter, Mitch Maxwell's Death Day, Memorial Day and so on. As far as Quatre was concerned, this morbid little tradition was just one more way that Mitch Maxwell had found of refusing to stay dead.

Quatre had been a little nervous approaching Trowa. "We need to go hang out at Tangle with Duo tonight. Is that ok?" It hadn't even occurred to him that he might go alone. He and Trowa had grown too attached at the hip to even contemplate it.

And, of course, Trowa had merely agreed without questioning. Quatre should have known better than to expect anything else. It wasn't that Trowa and Duo didn't get along - if you could call forced politeness getting along. It was just that Tangle didn't hold that much interest for Trowa. This had nothing to do with the fact that Duo stalked the bar like a territorial wolf. Or at least that's what Quatre told himself.

Trowa wore a dark brown field coat that made him look outdoorsy and sexy even in the middle of the city. When they got inside, Quatre checked his own coat, but then shrugged into Trowa's, wanting to feel his boyfriend's warmth around him, smell his scent. Besides, if Duo was in a typical Mitch Maxwell Death Day mood, it would be just as cold inside as out.

But when Duo sauntered up to them, he was smiling, eyes bright. "Hey Cat! Hey Trowa! We were just about to have a drink." He motioned to Wufei, Sally and Hilde who were sitting -- where else? -- at the bar.

"I don't know how you can spend all your nights off at the place you work," Sally was telling Hilde.

"Trowa understands me, don't you, Trowa?" Hilde pouted.

"But Cat and Trowa do something worthwhile," Duo teased. Quatre stared at him. It was the closest to a compliment Duo had given his boyfriend.

Even more surprisingly, Duo squeezed between them, put his arms around both their shoulders and nodded to the current bartender. "Get them whatever they want, all night. I'm paying."

This close to Duo, Quatre could tell that his best friend had already been indulging in whatever _he_ wanted. For quite a while, it seemed. He was surprised he hadn't noticed Duo's state when he first came in. But then, he had had Trowa to distract him.

Duo plopped down on a barstool, but Quatre, still standing, suddenly began squirming within Trowa's coat. "Oh, oh, oh my itchy spot!" The group watched amusedly as Quatre wriggled out of Trowa's coat and then tried to stretch his arm enough to reach that unscratchable place that everyone seems to have on their back.

Duo held out a hand, poised to reach over and take care of the problem, but Trowa beat him to it, deftly soothing his boyfriend with a couple of quick scratches.

"Ahhhhhh!" Quatre sighed in audible relief.

The two brunette's eyes met. "He has a tiny little scar there," Duo said. His voice sounded rather hollow to Quatre's ears.

"I know," Trowa countered.

The two brunette's eyes met and Duo broke the standoff first by shrugging and then turning away to pound on the bar again.

Quatre thought he saw Duo and Wufei share a none-too-friendly look but he couldn't be sure. And he didn't get to ask. Their drinks had arrived and Duo called for silence among their little group. He waited until all eyes were upon him before he held up his glass.

"On this day fourteen years ago my bastard father got himself shot. Oh, don't look at me like that, he deserved it. So anyway, I want to propose a toast."

Duo's sparkling eyes met Quatre's. Duo was smiling, his pupils suddenly dilated. "To my father." He bit the last word off bitterly. "Who hated me almost as much as I hated him."

With a flourish, he tipped his glass up and drank the contents. The rest of them darted glances at one another and then followed suit.

Duo wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "And now I go dance!"

Ignoring Trowa, who was asking him a question, Quatre watched Duo make his way purposefully through the crowd like a general inspecting his troops. Without much surprise, he noticed his friend take a tube from his pocket and quickly hold it up to his nose. After that, he easily found a dance partner, a man with a shaved head who grabbed Duo's waist rather too roughly for Quatre's liking. Quatre put his own arms around Trowa, resting his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. From this angle, he saw Duo begin to plant feathery kisses on his dance partner's neck. Then, from under the spill of bangs, a triangular pink tongue began to trace a path from neck to jaw line to earlobe. Soon, from all the way across the room, large violet eyes met his with the old unspoken invitation.

_This could be you._

The DJ's beat was suddenly overpoweringly loud, the room too stiflingly small. Quatre swallowed audibly as the heat rushed to his groin. Duo was still staring at him and one hand had now breached the waistband of his dance partner's shredded blue jeans. Quatre pressed his lips together as Duo's eyes half-closed and he threw his head back, causing his braid to whip around behind him and expose a graceful line of pale neck.

This happened every year. Every year Duo got high out of his mind, Quatre took him home and then Duo attempted to get him into bed. Every year Quatre managed to hold out until Duo passed out. It wasn't always easy, but damned if Quatre's first time having sex with Duo would be on the anniversary of Mitch Maxwell's last day on earth. No fucking way.

Trowa's voice finally penetrated. "I asked what happened to Duo's father." The voice was in his ear and he realized that he was still hugging the other man.

Quatre pulled away slightly so they could look at one another. "It's a long story," he said carefully.

"Meaning you can't tell me?" Trowa's expression was blank.

Quatre sighed. "No, I can tell you." _The short version at least. _"Mitch Maxwell was a bastard. He molested Duo's little cousin Nonnie. Duo's mom found out, told Nonnie's dad and Nonnie's dad shot him." He had managed to get the point across without lying.

Trowa was shaking his head. "Damn, that's messed up. Were Duo and his dad... close?"

"No, they weren't close. Look, let's not talk about it, okay? Why don't we dance instead?" He rubbed his knuckles against Trowa's cheek, a soft gesture to offset his clipped words. Holding hands, they found a clear spot on the dance floor and soon, thanks to his boyfriend, Quatre's forced smile became real.

Their bodies moving together in time to the music, Quatre felt more than heard the ragged whisper in his ear. "You look amazing tonight. You are amazing." He wrapped his arms around Trowa and nestled his face into the crook of the taller man's neck. Damn. What had he been thinking falling for Duo's games when he had Trowa right here? Dependable, smart, sexy Trowa who was guaranteed to stay by his side all night long.

()()()()()

The seductive expression fled Duo's face as soon as Trowa and Quatre went off to dance together. He shrugged minimally and then studied his dance partner enough to realize that he really wasn't all that great looking. He continued grinding against him anyway. Why the hell not?

Duo didn't realize that he had been maneuvering closer to Quatre and Trowa until the other two were only a few feet away. Or at least that's what he told himself. He pulled his dancer partner close so he could look over his shoulder. Quatre and Trowa were smiling at one another and there was no room in that look for anyone else. Quatre looked happy, Duo noted. He looked healthy; there was no anxious mask that he often wore where his best friend was concerned. In his back pocket Duo could see the outline of the tiny cell phone Trowa had bought him. That's right, Trowa was ambitious, he told himself. He invited Quatre over, cooked him dinner. Took him on dates. They had long conversations, walks in the moonlight. The two were planning to go away to a bed and breakfast next weekend. Trowa was everything that was right and good for Quatre. When they were 80 they'd sit on the back porch in safari hats and reminisce about lions they had known. Yup, Quatre's life was on the right track.

Quatre and Trowa were so goddamn perfect together it made him want to claw his eyes out.

Instead, he rested his head on his dancer partner's shoulder as that last bump began to take effect and all at once the music was too loud in his ears.

_"Take it like a man, son."_

On this night, when the dead whispered in his ear, he listened. The veil between the past and present was thinner tonight than on any other night of the year. Duo swayed and the dance floor under his feet had been replaced by vastness and stars. He gripped his unknown partner's shoulders tightly to prevent himself from falling in.

_Nonnie. A blonde replica of himself with only one difference. Until that spring she had been absolutely fearless._

Quatre was just a few feet away, but there was no room for him in that dreamy expression on his best friend's face.

_"The boy lies. My husband would never... Never."_

"Are you all right, man?"

_"Like a man, son."_

The song changed and Duo came to. Pushing past whomever he'd been dancing with, he made his way to a booth and lay down on the cold foam cushion of the seat. After a few minutes of lying there with his eyes closed he took the tube from his pocket – realizing all the while that he'd lost his shirt somewhere – and held it up to this nose once again. That was when he noticed the heads turning.

Solomon being a mid-sized city, the Tangle was generally patronized by a large crowd of regulars. So when Duo noticed that everyone's attention seemed to be focusing on the door, his first thought was something along the lines of "Perfect. Fresh meat."

The stranger was wearing a dark blue satin shirt and black leather pants. The shirt was the same color as the eyes, which peered out at the world from underneath messy chocolate bangs. He was alone and totally unaffected by it. Something set him apart from all the other hot guys coming in here to get laid. Something dangerous.

Duo found himself unconsciously moving closer until they were both standing in the center of the room. The men circled one another like two celestial bodies and by some unspoken agreement they both knew that, before the night was out, one would become the planet with the other falling into his orbit.

Duo made the first move. His territory, his chessboard. He would be the white knight. This time. "Welcome to Tangle."

The dangerous looking man merely nodded and took a few more circling steps.

Finally Duo couldn't take it any longer. "So are we going to box or are we going to dance?"

The words had no sooner left his mouth when two strong hands gripped his hips.

"What's your name?" In his ear, the stranger's voice was low, husky and just a bit nasal.

"Duo." When the strong hands refused to budge from his hips, Duo made do with throwing his arms around the stranger's neck, his bare arms gaining slippery purchase on the satin shirt. This was _not _the way he danced, arms around another guy's neck like some nelly bottom, and he intended to show the guy who was boss around here soon enough.

"I'm Heero." A steel grip slammed their hips together and one leg snaked between his. Duo squirmed backward, unwilling to be led down that road. This was the mating dance, and he played to win.

"I don't care," he answered, and his teeth clamped down on Heero's ear, one hand gripping the back of his dance partner's neck.

Somehow, Heero managed to break the hold. Grabbing one of Duo's shoulders, he easily spun the braided man around so that they now danced back to front. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Duo felt the other man's hardness grinding against him.

"Hey!" Duo shouted, in order to be heard over the music. He tried to twist out of the hold, but one arm was around his arms and chest, the other around his hips, holding him in place.

For a few stunned seconds, Duo merely went with the flow, letting their two bodies move together. Somehow, when he hadn't been paying attention, one of the big hands had loosely entwined his braid and was now tugging on it gently in order to gain better access to his neck. Heero's teeth scored the skin over the pulse there, then the line of his bare shoulder, his collarbone. The trail down his neck made a line of fire that Duo felt rush all the way to his groin. But nonetheless...

"Nobody grinds against me like that," Duo insisted loudly, very aware that the vulnerability of his current position made it into a ridiculous statement. "I do the grinding," he added.

The arm around his waist retreated and a hand flattened against his stomach, then trailed down until it was palming his crotch. The pressure against his ass was almost unbearable now. But in a good way.

Until the words in his ear. "I think you would take it like a man."

Duo froze. The music stopped. The lights dimmed. All he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. Was that his heart beating?

"Yes..." Duo heard himself answer softly.

The scowl his face crumbled into a vacant expression while inside his head he screamed and screamed.


	7. Perfect Memory

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 24; 3x4x3, 1x2, 5x?x5, possible 2x4x2?? _

_Warnings: NC-17, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, implied past non-con & D/S _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: Gundanium Line, The Ventilation Shaft, _

_Author's Notes: I'm trying to post in a hurry this morning so I didn't have time to do author's notes. They'll be back in the next chapter, I promise! Until then, know I read and re-read reviews and really, really appreciate every single one!_

_Notes to readers on this site: This chapter has been pretty heavily edited in order to comply with this site's decency policy. Please see my profile for links to the unedited version of Chapter 7._

**Chapter 7 – Perfect Memory**

_Accept what people offer. Drink their milkshakes. Take their love. – Wally Lamb_

Trowa's apartment was just a few blocks from Tangle, and he and Quatre walked there in silence, snow dusting them from the tops of their heads to the gloves sheathing their interlaced fingers.

A block from his apartment, Trowa disentangled their hands and wrapped one arm around Quatre's shoulder, pulling him close. "You're worried about Duo, aren't you?" he said. His voice was tender, not aggravated like Quatre half expected.

Quatre moved away a little so that he could look up at Trowa's face. "I… It's just that, normally tonight I would have waited until he drank and danced himself out of his mind and then brought him home. But he just left with that guy without even looking back. He was acting like it was any other night. But…"

Trowa wisely refrained from commenting. He may have spent the last few years observing lions, but he had learned a fair bit about human nature in the meantime. Such as, humans were the only animals that lied to themselves. And while lions only fought with tooth and claw, humans were always coming up with new ways to hurt one another.

Quatre shrugged underneath Trowa's arm. "…But he seemed ok. In fact, I'm sure he's fine."

Whatever he did or did not think of that last statement, Trowa kept it to himself. He just maintained the small smile on his face as Quatre talked himself out of worrying about his best friend.

"Besides…" Quatre had stopped and blocked Trowa's way on the sidewalk in front of the door to his building, a cheeky smile curving his lips. "I never had anybody else to go home with on Death Day before." Quatre slid his gloved hands into Trowa's back pockets. He arched up and touched his lips to his boyfriend's, the condensation from their breath mingling together as their mouths met.

Noses pressed together, Trowa breathed, "Come inside."

Like there was any question about that!

They raced one another up the stairs, Quatre not above throwing an elbow or two to impede the longer legged man's progress. Trowa caught up with him at his door and, instead of inserting the key in the lock, pinned Quatre too the wood, hands on both sides of the blonde head.

Quatre leaned back against the door breathlessly, a huge grin on his face.

Trowa flexed his arms in a sort of vertical pushup, bringing the two men chest to chest. "You cheated."

Quatre tilted his head. "'Cheated' is such an ugly word. I prefer to say that I gave you a handicap."

Another miniscule flex of Trowa's arms and something deliciously, achingly stiff was rubbing against Quatre's hip. "I'd say you gave me two handicaps."

All it took was the slight pressure, the smell of Trowa's soap, the sun-browned hand he could see out of the corner of his eye and Quatre's whole body was swollen and aching with desire. Barely brushing the underside of Trowa's jaw, Quatre's lips felt as if they had received an electric shock. Trowa's mouth found his and he was burning, burning.

Trowa used one hand to fumble through inserting the key in the door and the only reason Quatre didn't go flying when it swung free of its frame was because Trowa's other arm had encircled his waist, pulling their bodies close.

A pivoting dance had them around the open door then onto the couch, where Quatre landed atop Trowa, one knee between the cushions and the couch back, the other between Trowa's legs. They helped one another out of wet gloves and coats, eventually tossing the sodden mess to the floor.

Trowa shivered as Quatre gathered his faculties enough to be able to slowly pull Trowa's zipper. The other man shivered, then jumped. "Cold hands!"

"I'll warm you up," Quatre whispered, his lips curving into a smile. Trowa looked down to see blue eyes staring up at him. Quatre had scooted back on the couch, his face now nuzzling Trowa's belly, his hipbones, his thighs still encased in his blue jeans.

"When?" The word was meant to tease but came out more like a gasp.

After a night of anticipation, the experience threatened to be over all too soon. Quatre slowed down, prompting more of the cries and small noises his normally taciturn lover only seemed to make during the height of passion. He faltered a bit though, when one of those cries, the one that brought Trowa over the edge, reached his ears.

"I… ahhhh… god, I love you!"

Quatre froze for a minute and found himself having to catch up.

He blinked a few times and then sat back, swiping a finger over his lower lip. "Bathroom!" he said breathlessly. "Be right back."

He planted a reassuring kiss on Trowa's forehead before practically tripping over his own feet to flee down the hall.

The walls and floor of Trowa's bathroom were all royal blue tile and Trowa had added a fluffy pale blue rug and toilet seat cover to round the room out. The decorations were unexpected additions to an outdoorsman's apartment, unless one knew the man personally. From the stories his boyfriend had shared of his childhood spent in foster care, Quatre had realized that Trowa had had to learn how to make a house a home quickly. Despite the cold day, Quatre found himself uncomfortably warm so he ended up sinking down, back to the wall, between the tub and the toilet, his knees drawn up to his chest and his feet on the fluffy rug. The tiles, with their painted blue perfection and pristine grout were reassuringly cool behind and beneath him.

He heard a muffled click as he sat and realized that he still had his cell phone in his back pocket. He took it out and weighed it in his hand. Trowa had said he loved him. Had he meant it? Or had they just been idle words, uttered in the heat of the moment? Having so few experiences with real love, Quatre took every incidence seriously. Still a bit breathless, he turned his head so that his cheek pressed against the tile.

Before he could think better of it, he had hit number two on his speed dial. Trowa was number one, of course. Trowa had given him the phone. He, Quatre, was number one on Duo's speed dial, though. Why was he thinking about this?

One ring. Two. Three. Duo picked up.

If Duo's own decorating scheme was meant to be fashionably sparse, Heero's was downright Spartan. As the dark haired man walked him to the bedroom he didn't offer an explanation for the distinct lack of furniture and personal touches. Duo figured the mystery out for himself when he saw the neatly stacked boxes in one corner of each room. So he really was brand new in town.

They had made out like wild animals in the taxi on the short ride to Heero's townhouse. When Heero showed signs of surfacing for air, or worse, trying to speak, Duo had pulled him back down again. If he could kiss he didn't have to think. Duo didn't have to think about what he was about to do. How he had always secretly wanted to try it again. Why he had picked this time, this place, this night. Or why this night had picked him. Duo opened his eyes once and found that he could look through Heero's face as if he were transparent. He could see right through him to the streamers of city lights outside the cab window opposite him. Like Heero wasn't even there. Like he was in this cab by himself. Or in the dark barn, face pressed to the dirt, smelling gasoline and snakes and rotten hay.

Heero had led him by the hand into an upstairs bedroom. He had tried to speak again and Duo had again silenced him with his mouth. Shrugging, Heero was lifting Duo's shirt up over his head when the cell phone rang. They both automatically pawed at their pockets before realizing that it was Duo's. He looked at the caller ID.

"Leave it," Heero growled, reaching for one of Duo's now bare arms. His own fly was already unzipped, giving Duo a tantalizing glimpse of a dark trail and tented black boxers.

"Can't. Bathroom?" The one and two word sentences were all they both could manage aside from strangled panting.

"Fuck." It wasn't mad, more disappointed. Heero took a step back and ran a hand through his hair. "Over there."

Duo heard Heero's weight hit the bed heavily as he shut the bathroom door.

"Hey," he heard himself say softly into the phone. Heero had a huge bathtub with squared sides and even a step leading up to it. He found that he could easily situate himself on the corner of the tub, his legs crossed at the ankles and stretched along its outer edge.

"Are you alright?" Quatre's slightly tinny voice asked.

Duo forced his voice back to its normal volume and timbre. "I think it's the phone. What's up?"

"Trowa told me he loved me." Quatre's voice was normal, bland.

Duo had already plastered the fake smile on his face before he realized that there was no one there to see him.

"That's good," he said neutrally. Normal Duo would have said something teasing. The Duo who had decided to let Heero Yuy fuck him couldn't think of a single witty comment.

"I didn't say anything back," Quatre continued.

The words hung in the air. Duo wanted to say "Good. You don't need him." But the words turned to ashes in his mouth, stilled by a vision of himself grabbing Quatre by the nape of his neck, forcing him facedown onto the mattress, pinning him to the bed with his weight, ignoring his pleas to stop. Stilled by the cold knowledge that sometimes he wanted that.

Sometimes he wanted it more than anything.

Duo realized he was hard again. He didn't try to determine whether the cause was Quatre's voice, how the bottle of shampoo he held loosely in his hand smelled like Heero or the vision behind his closed eyes. He didn't want to know. So instead he kept quite and so did Quatre until Duo thought there really had been some fault with the connection. Then there was a rush of words.

"I have to ask you something, Duo, and it's very important, so shut up and listen."

_Shut up?_

A slight exhalation of breath on the other end of the line. "Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?"

_Of course I remember._

"Let me think…"

_In your backyard, in the snow.___

"Duo, you really don't remember?"

He unconsciously twisted the loose tip of his braid around one finger. "Hmmm… The first time. How old were we?"

_Fourteen.___

"We were fourteen."

Duo feigned a speculative pause. "Sorry, Cat, that was such a long time ago…"

_Only you would drink a strawberry milkshake in the middle of February. That was back when you still craved strawberry shakes all the time, before you got sick that time at Dairy Baron and swore off them forever. We got to your house and everybody on both sides of the duplex was gone and you had forgotten your key again. We thought we were so cool for being able to go without hats and gloves in the dead of winter but I could tell you were regretting that milkshake because you were rubbing your hands together while pretending to look around, trying to be all discreet. We went around to the back door to see if we could break in like cat burglars. I offered to bust a window but of course you never would have let me, and I wasn't serious anyway. Some of your sisters' toys and shit were frozen to the ground out there and I kicked this little plastic tricycle thing because I was frustrated and it was fucking freezing. It was about that time that the snow began to fall. You were apologizing, like you always do. Like you could change the weather or something. You looked at me and at that moment I knew you _would_ change the weather for me if you could. I knew it then and I know it now that you are the only person on this earth who has ever loved me. _

_You had snowflakes in your eyelashes._

_I was wearing the denim jacket that had been my dad's before he died and was way too big for me. You were wearing that fluffy red coat that you said made you look like a fourth grader. You were right, too. I went over and I took both your hands in mine and put them in my coat pockets. Then I slipped my arms around you and put my hands up under that tomato monstrosity. I wasn't as tall then and all I had to do was dip my chin an inch and we were nose to nose. You balled your hands up into fists inside my coat pockets and smiled right at me. I wanted to kiss you, but somehow I knew that wouldn't be enough. So I said it. And you ducked your head against my shoulder and told me you loved me, too._

_You had snowflakes in your eyelashes… _

"No. No, I can't remember." There was a note of finality in his voice. "When was it?"

Back in Trowa's bathroom, Quatre pressed his cheek into the cool tile and closed his eyes. Hard. He knew the story about Duo's mother and the deputy. Duo listening in the barn. After that day, Duo never lied. Never. "Um… not important. Just something I was thinking about. Actually, I should go. I'm at Trowa's."

"Ok."

"Duo-" A pause. A catch in Quatre's voice. One final chance to take it back.

Duo remained silent. If he spoke, he would force Quatre's face further into that mattress until there were no more sounds, until he went limp and unmoving. He realized that his hand was balled into a fist.

"Later then." The call cut off abruptly, as if, across town in Trowa's bathroom, Quatre had snapped the phone shut hastily. Before he could change his mind.

"Yeah…" But Duo was only speaking to the digital readout on the screen. He examined it, as if for clues. The digital readout flashed 00:01:30. A minute and a half to break a heart.

Trowa was still lying on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, when Quatre stepped hesitantly out of the bathroom. He was so quiet that Quatre thought for a moment that he'd fallen asleep and he stood quietly by the head of the couch, contemplating what to do until the arm reached out and a hand grasped his leg. Upside down emerald green eyes were regarding him.

"I meant it," the upside down lips said. "I probably should have said it a bit more romantically. But there you have it." Trowa folded his legs under him and became right side up just in time to be tackled into the back of the couch by Quatre.

After a few minutes on the couch, Quatre surfaced and saw that Trowa's eyes had gone dark with desire. "I love you, too," the blonde said, rolling the phrase around on his tongue. "I really do."

"Good," Trowa breathed. "Now show me."

"Can you... can you wrap my braid around your hand and pull my head back?"

"Yeah..." Heero muttered raggedly against Duo's ear. He was rapidly losing his ability to utter coherent sentences and thought it was better that he didn't press his luck. So without questioning, he did as Duo asked. The braid felt substantial and rope-like wrapped around his left hand. With his right, he grabbed Duo around the waist.

Duo let out a low moan. "Harder..." Then, "No, I mean with the braid. Wrap it around your hand one more time." Heero hesitated, stared hard for a few seconds at the smooth back in front of him, and then complied. Now Duo's neck was bent back at an almost painful angle, his face tilted up as if waiting for a kiss.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

Duo's voice was barely more than a whisper in the still room. "It's supposed to hurt."

Afterward, both men lay on their backs on Heero's dark blue sheets.

"You haven't been on a bottom in a long time, have you?" This question came out rather breathlessly as Heero's heart tried to find its steady rhythm again. It wasn't a delicate question, but something was nagging at him to ask it.

Duo, who had lit a cigarette, glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "No." A pause. "Not in a long time."

Heero noted the flatness in Duo's tone and knew he had offended him. He turned over on his side and propped himself up on one elbow, unable to stop his eyes from raking Duo's lanky frame before focusing on violet eyes.

"That," he said slowly, "was some of the most mind-blowing sex I've ever had. You," he ran one finger from Duo's sternum to his belly button, "were amazing."

Duo smirked a little and sat up. "Just don't be telling people. You'll ruin my reputation." He stood and started pulling his pants on.

"I won't," Heero agreed. "If you'll come out with me on Friday night."

Duo turned to look at Heero over one shoulder. The other man was still sprawled out on the bed in all his glory. "I don't date."

Quick as a cat, Heero grabbed the waistband of Duo's jeans, pulling him roughly back down to the bed "Yeah, and you're not a bottom either," he growled. With one motion of his arm, he had Duo turned over and flat on his back on the bed. "Who said you could put your clothes on? We're not finished here."

Duo was glaring at him angrily, but then, like before, his features suddenly transformed into that dreamy expression. The niggling doubt that had lingered in the back of Heero's mind disappeared, soundly trounced by the sight of the compliant body stretched out on his bed. Wordlessly, and never breaking eye contact, Duo crossed his slender wrists above his head. Heero soon found that he could encircle them with just one hand.

That next morning Quatre and Trowa bundled up and made the short walk to the diner that was quickly becoming their Sunday morning breakfast spot. Quatre thought he must have been having a blueberry pancake induced hallucination when he came out and met Duo and the guy he had left with the night before walking in. From what Quatre could tell, his best friend was still in his club clothes beneath his winter coat. The trick wore an expensive looking tracksuit.

Duo and one of his tricks were having breakfast together. Quatre raised two eyebrows. One just wouldn't have cut it for this situation.

There was a tense moment where everyone just stared at one another before Quatre and Duo began speaking at the same time.

"Hey Cat."

"Hey Duo."

Another pause, time enough for Quatre to notice that Duo was staring at him oddly. "Introduce me?" Quatre prompted. A light snow had been falling all morning, but the blonde wasn't sure that was the sole reason he was so eager to get out of this encounter.

"Oh. Yeah. This is Heero Yuy. Heero, this is my friend Quatre and his boyfriend Trowa." Duo then became exceedingly interested in the manhole cover he was standing on.

Trowa nodded at Heero and made some comment about the diner. He was recommending the strawberry muffins or something. Quatre wasn't listening. He was too busy trying not to stare at this strange Duo he didn't know, who ate breakfast with one night stands and kept his hands in his pockets instead of draping an arm around his best friend's shoulders.

"Nice to meet you," Heero was saying to Trowa. Trowa echoed him, then slipped his hand in Quatre's and they began walking.

"Seemed like a nice guy," Trowa said noncommittally. Quatre couldn't have picked him out of a police lineup.

After the couple walked away, Duo stood in the street for a few seconds more before following Heero into the diner.

Quatre had had snowflakes in his eyelashes.

_Fuck. _


	8. Some Things Get Lost

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 24; 3x4x3, 1x2, 5x?x5, possible 2x4x2?? _

_Warnings: R, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, D/S & implied past non-con _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: The Ventilation Shaft, Gundanium Line, A Little Piece of Gundam Wing, _

_Notes to readers: I didn't do this part last chapter & I missed it! So here we are:_

_Tardis: I always look forward to your reviews! I'm so glad you noticed the thing about Duo never lying! I'm trying to keep them in character, even in an A/U. This can sometimes be difficult, so I think its little details like that that "save" me._

_Anna May: I hope you like what we're beginning to see in this chapter concerning Wufei..._

_Quatre-kins: Thanks for reading! I'm so glad your enjoying the story so far. This chapter is far less angsty than the last one, but don't worry, soon the angst will be back in full force. (I'm a sucker for good angst, too!) And don't worry, I have a very definite plan for how to end this fic. It will have 2 to 3 more chapters after this one, unless I get attacked by a plot bunny._

**Chapter 8 – Some Things Get Lost**

_Brief is life but love is long. – Alfred, Lord Tennyson_

"Who are you really, and what were you before? What did you do, and what did you think?"

Duo lifted his head and opened his eyes to regard Heero.

"It's too early in the morning for multi-part questions." He snuggled back into the pillow, but Heero could still make out a mumbled, "What kind of a question is that anyway?"

"It's a good question. And I want to know the answer to it. So maybe I stole it from _Casablanca_."

"Isn't that an old black and white movie?"

Finally, Heero had managed to catch Duo in that pivotal moment before he could roll out of his bed and leave. They had spent three nights together. Last time, Heero had finally learned Duo's last name. Today, he had hopes that they would embark on their second adult conversation. The first had been on their "date" before Duo had dragged him out of the movie theatre for some gymnastics in the back seat of Heero's SUV. It wasn't that he was averse to spending all their time together, well... sleeping together, but he was interested in Duo for other things. It was time to find out if the same was true of the braided man.

"Yeah, it's in black and white but so what. It's a classic! Haven't you seen it?"

"Black and white hurts my eyes."

Heero propped himself up on and elbow to look down at his companion. Duo lay unselfconsciously naked on the expensive sheets. 

"That's such bullshit. We should watch it. You would love it."

_How do you know what I would love? _Duo thought pensively.

"There's a guy in it that reminds me of you," Heero continued.

Duo eyed him skeptically. "Yeah," he shrugged. "All right."

"Next weekend? Over here?" Heero suggested. "We can order in."

Heero could practically see the wheels turning in Duo's head. It was apparent that the braided man was wide awake now.

"I don't think Quatre's seen it either," he finally said. "Maybe we could invite him and Trowa and everybody else. Make a movie night of it."

Heero nodded slightly, wearing an expression that said Duo had just confirmed something he had always suspected.

"I was thinking that it could be just me and you." He left the words hanging in the air.

Duo was up in a flash, pulling his pants on. "Oh well, yeah. Sure. Whatever."

The shirt was on now. "I just wanted you to meet all my friends, is all," he added, almost as an afterthought.

Duo languidly began rubbing at a pillow mark on the side of his face. Heero lay on the bed, admiring how Duo could make such a mundane movement into a sexual act and remembered again why he was willing to put up with the braided man's doubletalk. For now at least.

* * *

They were occupying a table at Tangle that night. Quatre had brought Trowa, Sally was finally finished working her evening shift schedule and Hilde had the night off. Duo and his flavor of the week would be joining them, too, making the group just a bit too big to comfortably huddle around the bar.

"Flavor of the week," Quatre thought pensively. It was his convenient label for Heero, even though it had been more like two weeks. And it was the first time he had ever used that label in regard to his best friend. Most of Duo's flings were more like "soup of the day."

Duo had even gone on an actual date with this Heero guy. They had met, got in the car, and driven away with the precise intent of doing something together that, at least at first, did not involve condoms and lube. Up until last Friday, Quatre was pretty sure that he was the only person that had ever performed that particular activity with Duo. And yes it burned. Even though he had Trowa, it burned. It was like Duo was just waiting for him to find someone before he got on with his life.

"_Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?"_

"_No. No, I can't remember." _

And why should he? It was becoming increasingly apparent that the best memories of Quatre's life were unimportant to Duo. Or worse, like the story of their first kiss, they were jokes. He was starting to think that he might not know Duo at all.

"I can't believe I missed this guy the other night," Wufei was saying. "He must really have something to keep Duo interested."

"Twelve-inch cock," Quatre muttered.

"What was that?" Trowa asked. He was sitting between Quatre and Wufei, one arm draped around his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Clearing my throat."

"He was really hot," Hilde threw in, shrugging. Looking over Quatre's shoulder she added, "Correction. He's still really hot."

"I don't see the big attraction," Sally said dryly. Quatre noted the suspicious look she threw Hilde's way.

Within seconds they were joined by Duo and Heero. Quatre watched as Heero saw Wufei, paused and then took a step back. A slow smile spread over his face and even Quatre couldn't help but admit that he wasn't bad looking when his eyes lit up like that.

Even more surprising, Wufei was chuckling. "Out of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to walk into mine."

"I came here for the waters," Heero grinned back.

"We're in the desert; there are no waters, Yuy."

"I was misinformed."

"Um... We're not in the desert," Hilde put in.

"Long story," Heero and Wufei said at the same time.

"So how in the hell do you guys know each other?" Duo finally asked, after they had settled into the circular booth and Duo had introduced Heero to everyone else.

"We went to school together," Wufei explained. "At Columbia."

"Chang was always at the head of the class," Heero added.

Wufei just shrugged, but the grin hadn't left his face. "And Yuy here still got all the grant money. What the hell are you doing in Solomon anyway?"

Heero leaned back in the booth, lacing his fingers behind his head. They all expected him to start whistling at any second but instead he said, "Heard of the McClaren Grant?"

Wufei's eyes narrowed. "You're not!"

"I am."

"Who are you working for?"

Duo began to drum his fingers on the table impatiently. "So, Cat, Trowa, how have things been with you two?" he asked loudly. Those were the first words they had exchanged between them all evening.

Heero and Wufei leaned closer to one another to talk in quiet voices. Quatre could make out Wufei saying, "I will _bury_ you."

"We're getting a new chimp," Trowa answered Duo. "So we've both been working overtime to get ready for that." Quatre only nodded. His and Duo's eyes met for a few tense seconds. Duo was the first to look away.

"I just can't imagine you and Wufei as college buddies," Hilde soon interrupted the _sotto voce_ conversation.

"I don't recall that we were buddies." Wufei answered her.

"More like enemies," Heero agreed. He was rewarded with another narrow look from Wufei.

"And how is Relena?" Wufei asked innocently.

"We keep in touch," Heero answered nonchalantly. "And Meiran?"

They all watched Wufei cringe a little. "We don't."

Heero motioned around the room, indicating the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, most of them male. "I never knew, Chang."

Wufei shrugged a little, embarrassed that he had opened up this particular can of worms. "I could say the same for you."

"We're just a couple of late bloomers, huh?"

"So who's Relena?" Quatre asked as politely as he could manage with his teeth gritted.

"Ex-fiancée," Heero shook his head. "Hey, I was confused in college." He smiled at Quatre and didn't seem to notice the lack of a smile he got in return.

"The McClaren Grant," Wufei repeated just before lying his head down on the table with a put-upon sigh.

Duo stood up, drawing all eyes to him. Quatre quickly looked away, staring into his drink instead. The braided man held out a hand to Heero. "I came here for the casual drugs and recreational sex, not to sit around talking all night. Let's dance."

The little party was effectively broken up after that. Quatre and Trowa danced to a couple of songs and then left for Trowa's apartment. Heero made plans with Wufei to have a drink the next night and Sally and Hilde were left sitting alone in the booth.

"Could you be anymore obvious staring at Heero's ass like that?" Sally asked her friend nonchalantly.

Hilde blushed and stammered, "I... I wasn't."

Noting the hesitation, Sally pressed her advantage. "When's the last time you actually went on a date, Hil?"

"God, Sally! What kind of a question is that? Besides, it's none of your business!" Hilde began drumming her fingers on the table and used the excuse of scoping out dancers to avoid meeting her friend's eye.

Sally crossed her arms on her chest. "I've known you for eight years and I want you to be happy. I ask you one little question about your love life and you get all defensive. If I didn't know better I might think..."

"Well you do know better!" Hilde said, standing up, purse in hand. "Just stay the hell out of my business!"

Wearing a puzzled frown on her face, Sally watched the spiky blue mop move through the crowd and out the door.

* * *

That next Tuesday, Quatre woke up at 6am to a ringing phone and a half recalled memory of similar situation on a day eight years ago. Back then they only had the one phone, in the living room, and his mother had run through the duplex on bare feet. The kids ended up in the doorways to their bedrooms, all except Delilah, who could sleep through a buffalo stampede. They watched as their mother listened to someone on the phone and then blinked a few times before turning her back to them. Then she took out the notepad – filled full of her doodling – and wrote something down. She was always practical like that. Quatre remembered her hanging up the phone and turning around. For some reason, her beautiful blonde hair hadn't been up in curlers that night. Its funny, the things you remember.

She looked them all over, really looked at them, and then said, "Your daddy's dead."

"Our mama's dead," Iria said, when Quatre sleepily answered the phone.

* * *

She had died peacefully in her sleep. Or at least that's what the doctor said. She had checked on Katie Winner Mason the afternoon before, but her condition had been no different than in the past few months. "It was just her time," she told Quatre and Iria.

All four of them had all held their mother's hand one last time. There were no more muscle twitches; no more unnatural, repeating smiles and Quatre knew that he was supposed to be happy about that. Her photo menagerie lay undisturbed on the dresser. The picture the nurses had chosen to sit on her bedside the day before was a picture of all six of them, Katie, Frank, Iria, Quatre, Delilah and Scout. An irrational thought skated across his mind. Had she been waiting, day after day, for them to choose that particular photograph so that she could see all of her family before she died?

They were hustled out before the mundane tasks of readying her body for transport to the funeral parlor could begin. In an immaculately furnished office, Quatre stood alone while Iria sat on the couch and comforted their two sisters. He could have joined in the group hug, but he didn't want to. The two youngest were crying while Quatre could only feel numb. Iria had once told him she did not have the luxury of crying and finally he knew exactly what she meant.

Because he was alone, or maybe because he was male and that supposedly made him more stoic, a young woman in a pinstriped suit took him aside. "I apologize for bringing this up at a time like this, but sometimes it's helpful to the family when their planning the funeral to know..." She trailed off, holding up a slip of paper. A check. "You had paid in advance for next month. Here's your check back. I just need you to sign here and here."

Why was she talking about money at a time like this? Wait. What check? The state government paid for his mother's care.

He stared at it blankly for a few seconds. The signature line caught his attention with its overly-large looping D and M, interspersed with small, illegible characters.

"Thanks," he told the administrative assistant noncommittally. She seemed to expect him to say something else, but when he turned his back to her she finally left them all alone in the office.

Quatre folded the check in half and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. He really could not deal with this right now.

Delilah broke away from their sisters and came to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and nuzzled her head under his chin, much like she had done when they were children and home alone at night. Delilah was scared of lots of things – the dark, barking dogs, hair dryers, bugs. In school, she had been a slow learner to the point where the teachers recommended special classes. Though things like reading and multiplication didn't come easy to her she was the only one with the patience to braid Scout's hair into hundreds of tiny plaits when she insisted that it was the only proper Pocahontas costume for her class play. She was also the one who, when Quatre came out to his family, said that she didn't care if he was gay or purple or curly, he was still their brother and they loved him, didn't they? Now would they all stop crying and watch a movie or something? As far as Quatre was concerned, of the four of them, she was the best of all.

Delilah reached up to wipe at a tear that had appeared unbidden on his cheek and the long sleeve of her shirt slipped down. There were purple finger marks on her wrist, inches away from her gold wedding band and its chip of a diamond.

Now _this_ he could deal with.

He put an arm around her shoulder. "Where's John today?"

"He's working. Somebody's got to put food on the table."

From the unconscious change in inflection in Delilah's voice, Quatre knew his sister was parroting something she probably heard everyday.

"Is he still working at that McDonalds?"

"No, he's working with his buddy, Dave. They're painting houses. You know that, Quatre!"

He hadn't known. Apparently there were a lot of things he hadn't known.

"We're going to get five thousand dollars when he finishes this job. John's going to buy a big screen TV for himself for his twenty-first birthday. But now that mama..." she paused. "Maybe that money could pay for the funeral." Quatre had heard Iria bitch to the girls about the price of funerals. He had been appalled at first until he realized that complaining was the one luxury his older sister _could_ afford.

Quatre looked at this sisters, really looked at them, for the first time in a long time. Iria's old eyes staring at something no one could see, her mouth set in a grim line. Scout still sat on the leather couch, head in her hands, hiding a tearstained face, one of her trademark halter tops barely covering the slight swell of her pregnancy. Delilah stared up at him with the same trusting expression reserved for a big brother who checked under the bed for boogey men.

These were the people who needed him.

The folded bit of paper burned in his pocket but he was able to ignore it.

* * *

When you're a known fag in high school you either resign yourself to getting the shit kicked out of you or you learn to kick back.

Delilah's husband was on a job site not far from Quatre's apartment. Even from his car, Quatre could see the green paint speckled across his face like radioactive freckles. Noticing that Quatre had parked in the yard and not bothered to close the car door, John began climbing down from his perch on a rickety looking ladder. John's expression vacillated from sympathetic to confused to angry as he watched Quatre stalk across the yard toward him. Reaching the ladder, Quatre grabbed his brother-in-law's shirt-tail and pulled him down with three rungs to go. The short fall combined with the swift motion made John lose his balance and he lay sprawled in the grass for a few tense seconds before Quatre coldly told him, "Get up."

The other man, must be the mysterious Dave, had come around the corner of the house now. "What the hell?"

"It's a family thing. Unless you're a wife beater, too, then you can get in line."

John had gotten to his feet by then, his hands curling into fists. His face was red and the sweat from his day's work had plastered his hair to his forehead. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Quatre," he said nervously, the tremble in his voice belying the words.

Quatre took a step toward him; his stance was relaxed, almost casual. The cold tone in his voice was not. "There are finger marks on my little sister's wrist. You know John, I would normally give you a chance to explain but today I don't really fucking feel like it."

A right hook caught John square across the jaw and he stumbled against the freshly painted house. Recovering, he launched himself at Quatre, thousands of years of animal instinct telling him get his adversary on the ground. But Quatre was ready and he quickly sidestepped the furious movement. Another blow landed on John's ear and he lurched backward with a stunned grunt. Dave had come up behind Quatre and grabbed him around the arms, trying to pull him away, but Quatre put a stop to that with a head butt to the nose.

There was a roaring in Quatre's ears and he was on top of John again before he realized that the sound was his own voice. He was shouting, and he was crying. He closed his eyes and saw Delilah's trusting blue ones and that gave him the power to unclasp the hands that had snaked around his brother-in-law's throat. John crab-crawled away from him, still eyeing him warily.

This was the scene the cops found.

* * *

Only after he was processed and led to the holding cell was Quatre let out of the handcuffs to assess his damage. The two smallest knuckles on his right hand were covered in dried blood where a punch had connected wrong, but other than that the only thing harmed seemed to be the legs of his favorite, most worn-in pair of jeans. Somehow he had managed to cover his right leg almost entirely in lime green paint. His own brittle, near-hysterical laughter covered up the sound of footsteps approaching the cell.

_A/N: Heero and Wufei's silly conversation about the desert is all from the film _Casablanca. _FYI, the character Duo reminded Heero of is the corrupt (and very cagey) policeman, Captain Renault. _


	9. Childish Things

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 24; 3x4x3, 1x2, 5x?x5, possible 2x4x2?? _

_Warnings: NC-17, AU, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, D/S & implied past non-con _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: The Ventilation Shaft, Gundanium Line, Raygunworks: A Little Piece of Gundam Wing, _

_Notes to readers: _

_Backlash: Always nice to hear from a new reader! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!_

_Quatre-kins: I hope by now you believe I'm not stopping the fic. _

_Lomelinde: Thanks! You gave me the highest compliment calling my writing style "down to earth." I try to be economical with words and not get into long, flowery descriptions. Sometimes its hard to resist those descriptions, though, LOL. _

_Tardis: LOL Another Casablanca fan! I knew they would come out the woodwork after that next chapter. I'm glad you like "tough" Quatre and I hope this chapter will answer some of your questions!_

_**A/N: Very important. This chapter is edited to conform to this site's decency rating. Check my profile for links to the "indecent" versions of this chapter instead. But don't forget to leave feedback! You guys should know by now that I crave it. Feel free to leave feedback here, on my LJ, or just send me an e-mail! Thanks so much for reading!**_

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Childish Things**

_Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow._

_  
My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year._

_  
He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound's the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake._

_  
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep._

_Robert Frost, "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening"_

Duo was wearing a suit. With his early morning wake up call, the protracted wait in the nursing home, and now the jail cell, Quatre had lost all track of time. Seeing his friend round the corner in the charcoal colored three-piece, Quatre realized that someone must have called him out of work. His hand automatically went to his hip, his thumb rubbing the place where the check rested in his pocket. Compared to everything else that had happened today, the little scrap of paper was insignificant. But, like a man whistling on his way past a graveyard, Quatre chose to focus on the small details instead of the dark emptiness surrounding him.

A policeman followed Duo and Quatre, surprised, watched him unlock the cell.

"You're free to go, son," the officer said, barely sparing a glance in his direction.

Quatre glanced from Duo's blank expression back to the officer. "Do I have to go to court?"

The policeman was cramming the keys back into the pocket of his too-tight uniform pants. "Nope, your brother-in-law decided not to press charges." This was said a touch more kindly and the officer even added a rather sympathetic "Stay out of trouble, son," as he ushered them to the station's front doors.

Quatre, as aware of Duo as he was of the weather, noticed the other man relax when they left the whitewashed walls behind. They walked side by side to where Duo's car was parked on the street, neither breaking the silence that had grown between them since the night of that last, tense phone call.

Bayard, Duo's step-father, had bought him a car for his sixteenth birthday. In high school, they had gotten into a sort of car routine. Duo would unlock his door and then toss the keys over the top of the car to Quatre to do the same on his side. He opened his mouth. He might have been going to ask Duo if he remembered. Instead, he stood by the passenger door and jumped a little at the _beep_ and _click_ as the keyless entry system worked its magic. Oh.

When they were in the car and Duo had his eyes fixed carefully on the road, Duo said softly, "I'm sorry about Katie."

Not trusting himself to speak, Quatre only nodded. They stopped for a red light and he snuck a surreptitious peek at his... at Duo. The braided man's knuckles gripped the wheel tightly and he was watching the circle of red intently, as if willing it to change faster.

Duo's voice was still just as soft and tentative. "I..." He stopped when the light turned green, made a left hand turn, and then started again. "Iria called me. We thought we were going to have to bail you out. I just found out when I got there that John didn't press charges..." he began to explain.

Quatre's hand was in and out of his pocket in a flash. He unfolded the check and held it out, inches from Duo's face. Startled violet eyes widened and blinked a few times. "Bail me out." He said flatly. "You certainly had the cash handy, didn't you?"

Duo swallowed. "I thought you would be grateful," he said cautiously. It was the wrong thing to say. If Quatre hadn't been restrained by his seatbelt, he might have launched himself at Duo, whether he was driving or not.

"Grateful?" he ground out. "Grateful that you would lie to me? That you always take it upon yourself to _protect_ me." He spat out the word 'protect' as if it were sour milk.

Duo slammed the car into a loading zone. The eyes that met Quatre's were equally heated. Duo never could stand it when someone spoke coldly to him. He would rather be yelled at and Quatre knew it.

Duo ran a hand through his hair, mussing his braid. "Do you not remember how miserable you were that year Katie was in that public nursing home? I was worried about you. I had to do something. Godammit, you wouldn't let me pay your tuition."

Quatre began to sputter and Duo cut him off. "I had the money, Quatre. I wanted to help you."

"I didn't want your help." Quatre struggled to maintain the cold timbre of his voice.

"I know. That's why I didn't ask."

"I wanted..." Quatre stopped. For a second, the silence in the car was complete. Quatre stared out the window at the cars passing by.

"What did you want?" Duo's voice sounded irritable in the stillness. Belying the tone, one of his hands hovered over Quatre's shoulder, though he could not will it to take the final step and rest there.

Quatre studied the dashboard. "I wanted you to talk to me about her. You always pretended she wasn't even sick. Like she had just gone on vacation or something." Then he shook his head rapidly three times, taking a deep breath then letting it out before speaking. "I'm lying. That's not what I wanted." Duo hovered in his peripheral vision, he felt, rather than saw, the hand withdraw from the vicinity of his shoulder. "The only thing I ever wanted is something you could have _given_ me. And it wouldn't have cost you a thing."

There it was. The white elephant in the room. Their old friend. Always there but never acknowledged. In his mind, Duo rolled off of Quatre, who still lay facedown on the mattress. The motion made his blonde head loll to the side and Duo was greeted with blue lips and a horrified expression. Bloodshot eyes.

"No!" he said raggedly. The words came out louder than he intended, and he saw Quatre's shoulders slump.

The hands of his best friend of fourteen years – calloused, he knew, from manual labor --reflexively clutched at the air. His voice was a mixture between shaky and bitter. It was unbecoming on him. "I guess I know how much I'm worth to you as just a friend, huh?" Still gripped in his fist, he held the check up to his heart. "Fifteen hundred dollars a month. Here, let me do the math. Figure out my net worth." The shakiness disappeared, leaving only the bitter. "It'll take me a minute. I'm not a genius like you, college boy."

Duo knew he should choose his words carefully right now. Somewhere, there was a correct path down this slippery slope. A sign, a guide rail, a mark scratched on a tree. Something, anything. Just enough to keep Quatre from walking away from him and never looking back.

"Trowa is good for you," he said neutrally. Quatre unbuckled his seat belt and Duo knew then that he had followed the wrong sign.

"And how the hell would you know what's good for me? What's good for anybody? Duo, you have the most fucked up life of anybody I've ever met yet you think you know what's best for me? Tell me then. Why is it that one person in all these years has been good enough for me, but _everybody_ has been good enough for you. I... " Quatre ran his thumb and index finger down the slick band of the seatbelt and started again. "Why Trowa? Why now? You've sabotaged every relationship I've ever had. And I always thought that..." His fair complexion reddened. "That you were saving me for you. That one day you would say to me, 'Ok, Quatre. I'm done playing now. It's out of my system. It's you I've wanted all this time. It has always been you.'"

Quatre was surprised that the tears hadn't come much sooner. He put his open hand to his forehead, covering his face so that, if he were to look up, he would view the world through splayed fingers. "I've been so stupid," he muttered. The words were barely there. "Stupid all my life."

What he said now would change the course of the rest of his days. Duo knew this like he knew the curve of Quatre's lip when he smiled that smile reserved only for him. Duo had always been a careful man, to the point of hyper self-consciousness. He was constantly aware of his appearance, his hand gestures, the way he shaped his hill country accent to mimic the broadcasters on TV. And right now he knew he had two choices. Forever with Quatre or forever without him. Quatre could leave him and live with Trowa. Or he could stay, and die, with Duo. In his mind, Duo turned his back to Quatre, who now lay naked and inviting on the bed. He left the room and shut the door.

"I've leaving," he told Quatre flatly. "Bayard is developing a condominium project in Kentucky and I'm going to supervise." Having no desire to cross the line into his home state ever again, Duo had flatly refused the assignment. Tomorrow, he would go back to the office and beg for it.

Quatre had looked at him then; a mixture of shock and anger written across his features. But he did not say anything, and for that, Duo was grateful.

Duo put the car in gear. "I'll take you home."

Quatre surprised him by opening his door. "I'll walk." A pause. "Good luck then." The last was said when Quatre was already on the sidewalk.

"Thanks," Duo replied. He went unheard over the slamming door.

* * *

It was a day of inevitability. Inevitably, his mother was going to slip into death. Inevitably, he and Duo were going to have that conversation. Inevitably, the bliss state he had existed in with Trowa would end.

Quatre had never realized that he loved two people at once. It should have been something he worried and obsessed over, but it wasn't. Loving Duo was like breathing. Unconscious and intrinsic. It was as much a part of him as the blood under his skin, and just as necessary. Trowa, on the other hand, was everything you were taught to expect about love. He was romance, and candles, and a Hollywood ending. He could see himself growing old with Trowa and it was a comforting thought. Duo, he could never imagine as an old man.

He was in love with two people, but the two loves had absolutely nothing to do with one another. Until he thought he had lost them both.

Trowa was in Chicago, at the Field Museum doing research for his thesis. He answered his phone on the first ring and Quatre almost asked if he had dialed the wrong number. The unusual excitement in Trowa's voice was palpable.

"You're psychic, Quatre. I was about to call you! I just got the best news."

"What?" Quatre asked. If his tone was dull, Trowa didn't seem to notice.

"I got a grant to go to Tsavo! For up to two years, if you can believe it. It's weird. The deadline passed and I thought they had awarded the money to someone else. But it turns out they were debating whether to give it to me or a guy out of UCLA, and they decided on me." Quatre knew Trowa well enough to know that he would be shaking his head in wonderment. He was a brilliant biologist, yet he was still surprised when someone singled him out. Quatre thought this neurosis might stem from too many years of getting passed over for adoption.

"Oh." It was all Quatre could think to say at that moment and the one word seemed to cover the situation adequately enough.

A day of inevitability.

Until Trowa's next sentence. "I want you to come with me."

Quatre opened his mouth to say, "What?" and "My mother died," tumbled out instead.

It was Trowa's turn to say it. "Oh." Then, "God, I'm sorry. Are you ok? I'll come home right now."

Even over the phone, he sounded substantial enough to lean on. "It's ok. I'm fine." he said. His eyes scanned the familiar living room of his apartment numbly. "I know you've been trying to get time off for this trip forever. It was... it was inevitable anyway."

"Don't start with me," Trowa said in a too-calm voice. "This is more important. You're too important. I'll be home by morning even if I have to rent a car and drive."

Chicago was an eleven hour drive, he knew. They had looked it up on the internet when Trowa was planning the trip. Back on that morning three days ago when Quatre had dropped his boyfriend off at the airport, a week had seemed like a lifetime. Now half a day seemed too soon.

* * *

The next evening, Duo stalked his apartment, barefoot and shirtless. Mitch Maxwell leered at him from his corner and Duo flipped him the bird before picking up his sleek cordless phone and hitting number one on the speed dial. He had no idea what he would say when Quatre picked up. Maybe he would even apologize. Maybe. He needed to ask about Katie's funeral. And he could tell Quatre the date he would be leaving for Lexington. There would be no turning back now, he had already sublet the apartment to some single junior congressman Bayard knew.

Ring once, ring twice. Duo remembered how, when they were younger, Quatre always ran for the phone like it might be Ed McMahon on the other end asking directions on where to deliver the prize money. For some reason, he half expected to hear that breathless teenager gasping "Hello" when the phone clicked a connection. A familiar subdued voice, not Quatre's, answered instead.

Holding his breath, Duo hung up quickly. His heart was beating like a schoolboy calling his first crush. Which he was, in a way, though he didn't stop to reflect on that. He poised to dial again. Maybe they would get the hint and Quatre would pick up this time. He dialed.

Heero answered on the fifth ring.

"Come over. "

* * *

The first words out of Heero's mouth when he stepped into Duo's apartment were, "Hey, what's wrong?" Had he been that obvious? Maybe the nearly empty Jim Beam bottle and the single glass on the coffee table had given it away. His father had often bought smaller bottles and drank them straight. Duo always used a glass.

The bourbon had started to kick in before Heero arrived and Duo imagined he could feel the liquid, like bottled sunshine, burning a path through his digestive system. He threw an arm gregariously around Heero's neck, one nipple brushing uncomfortably against a button on the other man's work shirt. "I just wanted to see you, is all," he said against Heero's ear, before sinking white, even, teeth into the sensitive dip between neck and shoulder. Heero gasped and Duo could feel him harden beneath the staid gray dress pants. Duo's tongue lapped at the vibration in Heero's throat as he swallowed.

"I have a feeling you've been..." Heero's throat closed up when Duo's hand plunged into his waistband and encircled him. "Have you been bad?" he managed to rasp out. It was a game they had started between them. With public-Duo, Heero wasn't sure how he had ever found the nerve to begin it. At Tangle, or just on the street for that matter, Duo exuded confidence and something else. A certain power. Heero would never tell him now, but that first night at Tangle, he would have gladly agreed to be topped if Duo had not consented first. Duo sucked people into his orbit like that.

But that was public-Duo. Private time was another matter. Duo never screamed louder than when Heero took him. Inscrutable rules applied, though. It could never, ever, after that first night, take place in the bed. And once Heero was inside him, there could be absolutely no talking. All in all, it was probably the hottest act Heero had ever participated in.

"I haven't been bad. I've been atrocious," the braided man breathed into his ear. Duo, always slippery at times like this, had wriggled around behind him now, pressing his arms around his waist, undoing the button at his fly with one hand while the other cupped him through the dress pants.

The button popped out of place and the zipper quickly separated. Duo's hand fluttered over the white boxer-briefs inside, waiting.

Heero leaned his head back, resting on one of Duo's slender shoulders. He unconsciously ran two fingers around his collar, loosening it a bit before deciding, "Atrocious, hmm?" he purred. "That sounds serious. I think that, first, you should touch me."

Duo did as commanded, popping the button off the boxer-briefs in the process. The tiny plastic bauble made an audible sound as it hit the hardwood floor, coinciding with Duo's gasp. The hand that had been coaxing his length out into the open froze.

"Not good," Heero made a clicking sound with his tongue. "You'll have to pay me back for that." He neatly twisted and slipped an arm around Duo's waist, pulling their bodies flush together. Cupping Duo's chin with one hand, he told the braided man sternly. "Get on your knees."

And then he was reminded of the one thing he most adamantly did not like about their game. And why he would much rather take Duo from behind. From the expression on Duo's face, Heero knew he had discovered yet another one of those inscrutable rules. The braided man's eyes had widened, his lip trembled. And for a few seconds, he disappeared. One day he would work up the nerve to ask Duo where he went when he turned inward like that. But not yet.

Duo returned from that place soon enough. "I don't get on my knees for nobody."

Heero noted the grammar lapse, and how, for that one sentence, Duo's voice had stretched thin and flat into an accent that smacked of lands higher up and father south.

"Okay. It's okay," Heero made a rare attempt at speaking soothingly. "I didn't know."

Duo ran a finger underneath his bangs, smoothing them off his face. He then raised his eyebrows at Heero, as if he had just asked the other man a question and was waiting for an answer.

"What?" Heero was forced to ask. The stood just a few inches from one another now, their bodies consciously not touching.

"I have a sturdy dining room table," Duo said matter-of-factly, pointing to an open door just off the main room. "There's lube and condoms under the couch cushion." With that he unzipped his jeans and slipped them off then walked naked, braid swaying slightly, to the other room. He did not look back.

* * *

Catherine Mason was buried on a sunny Saturday in early summer. Birds sang over the grave side service and Quatre was reminded of a time when he was very small, before Frank, before Delilah and Scout, when he had woken up one morning only to realize that he had climbed in bed with his mother after a nightmare. It was spring and all he could hear were what sounded like thousands of birds in the two meager trees in their backyard. "Shhhh!" His mother told him. She had been running her delicate fingers through his baby fine white-blonde hair. "Do you hear those birds outside?" she had asked. "They're singing to you, Quatre. Just for you."

The thought made him smile and he whispered, "They're singing to you, mama."

Beside him, Delilah slipped her hand into his. A subdued looking John stood on her other side. They had all jointly decided that Delilah should stay with Iria for awhile. If Quatre had his way, she would have called a lawyer right away, but then, he rarely got his way. Delilah was already making noises about riding home with him after the funeral, "just to fix him some dinners to put in the freezer."

The small group of mourners made a semi-circle around the graveside. Duo and his mother stood in the back, carefully positioned – by Duo – out of Quatre's line of sight. After the service though, Miriam McNally insisted on speaking with the family, as Duo knew she would. What's the point of a senator's wife attending a pauper's funeral if no one knows she is there?

"Thank you for coming," Quatre murmured to them both and then he surprised Duo by shaking both their hands.

Miriam offered some insincere pleasantry along the lines of "It was a lovely service." They had turned to leave when Quatre asked politely, "Duo, when do you leave?" Behind him, Trowa also looked interested.

Duo spun around. Too quickly. "Uh... Next month, the 21st."

Quatre nodded and Duo realized that, for the first time in his life, he found the expression on the familiar face unreadable. The blonde turned to greet the next mourner and line and Duo stood there foolishly for a tense second before realizing he had been dismissed. He knew this distance between them was his own fault. But it still hurt.

They had buried Quatre's mother in an old, crowded cemetery with no walking paths between the graves. Duo instinctively offered his mother his arm, but she did not take it, instead picking her way carefully among the headstones.

Miriam McNally had not touched her son in fourteen years.

He watched her irritably as she made her way to his car and then stood imperiously beside the passenger side door. He flicked the button on the keyless entry just so she wouldn't have a chance to complain.

"Tell me again why you couldn't just hire a car?"

"We're not rich you know, Duo." She said crisply. Duo rolled his eyes, careful that she didn't see him. Yes they were rich. He read the annual report just like everyone else that worked for Bayard's real estate development conglomerate. "And besides," she continued. "It would be crass to show up at a... at Catherine's funeral with a car and driver."

A flush of anger on Quatre's behalf crawled up his cheeks. "At a _what_, Mimi?" he prompted. He added the dreaded nickname just for spite. His father had always called her that and she hated to be reminded that there had been life before the Senator. Duo himself was the living, breathing reminder.

"You know what I meant, Duo."

His hands clenched on the wheel. "Nope, can't say that I did. You were about to call Katie a what? A poor person? One of the little people? The proletariat?" He bit the last suggestion out. "Poor white trash?"

He saw his mother begin to shake in the passenger's seat. People were often surprised she had a son his age. But from his vantage point, Duo could see the thin lines crawling out of the corners of her eyes and across her forehead. She still had that scar, a pale indentation in the middle of her forehead where her father had once accidentally hit her with the buckle of his belt. At the time she told him that story Duo had wondered where exactly his grandfather had been aiming.

"Because," Duo continued conversationally, "That wouldn't be very sporting of you to say something like that, would it? I mean, Katie grew up here in Solomon. With indoor plumbing, I believe. Now if we wanted to talk about poor white trash..."

Strapped into the car left her at an awkward angle to slap him, but she managed it admirably. Though not without her manicured nails digging into his hairline.

She had touched him.

"The Good Book says to 'honor thy father and thy mother.'" The crispness was back in Miriam's voice now. She sat looking straight ahead as if nothing had just happened.

He shrugged. "Exodus, chapter twenty, verse twelve. It also says that 'every one of us shall give account of themselves to God.' That's Romans, 15:12." They passed under a bridge and the whites of Duo's eyes glittered in the darkness as he looked over at her. "Are there things you have to account for, mother?"

Miriam's lips were pursed into a thin line as she chose not to understand him. "I see you still remember some of what we taught you in church. Though even the devil can quote scripture to suit his own purposes."

Duo's face held a mirroring expression as he carefully watched the road. "It was either go to church with you or stay at home with dad."

"You should have listened harder. 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; it is an abomination.' It's written there clear as day, Duo, in Leviticus chapter eighteen, verse twenty-two." She seemed to be trying a different tack now. She was using a pleading, almost... motherly tone. Duo didn't think he had heard anything so funny in his life. If it hadn't hurt so much he would have laughed.

"Right," he scoffed. "And Numbers, chapter six, verse seven says 'He shall not make himself unclean for his father.'" His voice had risen unintentionally and the words hung there between them in the stale recycled air.

"I...I..." she sputtered, as unsure of her next move as a defense lawyer whose client had just confessed on the stand. "I'll not listen to you tell lies about your father," she finally decided to say.

"Let the iniquity of his fathers be remembered with the Lord; and let not the sin of the mother be blotted out," Duo continued as if he hadn't heard her. "See? I listened enough, mother," he added. "Enough to know that what you both did was wrong."

They were at the McNally's big Victorian now, outside in front of the security gate that Duo had always found so pretentious. Miriam bolted out of the car, fumbling in her purse for the gate remote. He stepped out after her and leaned against the fender, watching her like a predator. She seemed to notice the shift in the balance of power at the same time he did and her violet eyes, the mirrors of his own, filled with a rage he had not witnessed in years.

"You're not half the man he was and you never will be," she spat out a parting shot.

Three days ago, Duo might have apologized to her. Three days ago, he never would have found the nerve to have this conversation in the first place. On the day of Quatre's mother's funeral though, he just laughed.

"First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse eleven, mother. When I was a child, I understood as a child, I spoke as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put away childish things."

Duo smiled wolfishly at Miriam, who looked suddenly smaller as she stood in front of the gate, jamming the button on a black remote control. Her feet were rather wider apart than normal and she appeared to be having trouble balancing on lavender high heels which were dyed to perfectly match her tailored suit. He crossed the few steps to her side and took her in his arms, planting a kiss full on her lips. Then he hugged her close. He suspected it was shock that made her remain so oddly still in his arms. To someone in a car passing by, he looked like a dutiful son telling his mother goodbye. But Duo leaned in and whispered in his mother's ear. "I put away childish things. You can tell me until you're blue in the face that it didn't happen, but I'm not listening anymore."

He held her for a moment longer, looking down at her, close as a lover, studying her aging face. "Fuck you, Mimi." He was still smiling when he slammed the car into reverse and pulled out of the McNally driveway for the last time.

More than the day his father died, more than the thousands of times he had sated himself inside some willing lover, more than the first time he had given over control to Heero, Duo Maxwell felt free.

And now he had promises to keep.

* * *

_A/N: About the Robert Frost poem I chose for this chapter's quote – some critics theorize that, taken with the poem's content, the soft, almost whispery "s" sounds convey a longing to slip out of life. I think that the first line of the last stanza ("The woods are lovely, dark and deep") represents the seductive power of death. But never fear! The last three lines convey the author's ultimate decision. I hope my reasons for using this particular poem in this chapter will become apparent. If not, indulge me. _


	10. Overture

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 24; 3x4x3, 1x2, 5x?x5, possible 2x4x2?? _

_Warnings: NC-17, AU, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, D/S & implied past non-con _

_Disclaimer: Every morning I wake up and realize with a horrible pang of loss that I don't actually own Gundam Wing. Please don't make me suffer any more by suing me. Title of the story is taken from a Bob Dylan song. Which I also don't own. Quit rubbing it in._

_Archive: The Ventilation Shaft, Gundanium Line, Raygunworks: A Little Piece of Gundam Wing, _

**_A/N: Very important. This chapter takes place about a month _before _Chapter 1!_**_ Other than that, for once, this chapter is clean enough that I can post the whole thing on this site! Thanks so much for reading and reviwing. I love you guys!_

**Chapter 10 – Overture**

_It's a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before. _

_- Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities_

Wufei had had his fingernails buffed. They were ridiculously shiny underneath the colored strobe lights at Tangle and he imagined that they shone with the intensity of a flashlight beam into the eyes of anybody who looked his way. To make matters worse, Hilde remarked, "You sure are dressed up. What's the occasion?" when he sat down across the bar from her.

"No occasion," he muttered, taking a sip of his ubiquitous limewater.

"Want me to put a dash of vodka in that for you?" she teased.

Wufei quickly covered his glass with the flat of his palm and uttered a forceful, "No thank you."

Hilde rolled her eyes exasperatedly and then leaned over the bar. He leaned away, taking his limewater with him. The woman and her blue hair were invading his personal space, thank you very much. "Wufei, why do you come to a bar every night if you don't even drink?"

They both looked over as the frosted glass door swung open and Quatre walked in.

Wufei blinked a few times. What? Was his life a sitcom now?

"The ambiance," he answered Hilde stiffly. "I come here for the ambiance." He did his best to ignore the blue-haired woman's Cheshire Cat grin. "And I don't come here every night," he added pensively, just before Quatre settled in beside him.

"How are things in the medical research business?" Quatre asked brightly.

"Under-funded," Wufei answered glumly. But that got a smile out of Quatre and Wufei soon found himself smiling as well. It almost took his mind off of his bright shiny fingernails. He surreptitiously studied Quatre. The blonde was wearing a light blue t-shirt, a color that, Wufei had often noticed, seemed to make the blue in his eyes appear that much brighter. There was a lot he noticed about Quatre, and over this last month he seemed to notice more and more. Like the fact that he smelled damn good. Or the way his hands curled around his beer bottle. Ahem. Wufei shifted a bit in his seat.

He had also noticed the way Quatre's eyes lit up when Duo entered the room...

"What's shakin', bacon?" Duo called to Quatre.

Yes, you'd have to be a fool not to notice that. As the braided man approached, Wufei watched his chance of asking Quatre out tonight disappear like one of Otto's tequila shooters. Speaking of that raving drunk, Wufei checked the barroom and found no sign of him. Quatre had gone home with Otto one night two weeks ago and, well, to be perfectly candid, Wufei's confidence did not need that kind of blow tonight. At least he could be pretty sure that Duo wouldn't take Quatre home. After all, he hadn't in the four years that Wufei had known the two friends.

Pensively, he sipped his limewater and pretended to scope the dance floor while Duo and Quatre talked about their respective days. Duo listened attentively to Quatre's tale about the autocratic hardware store where he worked and the globe-trotting adventures of a shipment of dishwashers that was supposed come in last week. For some reason Duo's jibes and helpful suggestions only made Wufei angrier. In his opinion, Duo was giving a crumb of bread to a starving man - a man for whom Wufei would gladly bake a fucking cake. A few minutes passed and, when Duo got up to dance, Quatre watched him go. Wufei noted the flicker of hurt in the blonde's eyes and had to restrain himself from yanking the retreating braid as it passed by his nose.

Duo Maxwell was the real fool here.

Quatre caught him looking and shrugged.

When Hilde brought them new drinks, Quatre leaned in and asked teasingly, "Have you ever drunk a drop of alcohol in your entire life?"

Wufei bit his lip a little when he smiled back at Quatre. It was an unconscious gesture, one he had never noticed, but that his friends knew meant he had let his guard down a little. The lip biting was a valuable signal, indeed, when it came to the perpetually uptight Wufei Chang.

"Never a single drop," he replied.

"I bet you have no alcohol tolerance. You'd probably be wild if somebody got you drunk." Out of the corner of his eye, Wufei noticed that the blonde still had his fist curled around the beer bottle, and now he was absently stroking it. Up and down. Up. And down. Oh ancestors.

Wufei shrugged indifferently, but an irksome smile that wouldn't seemed to go away betrayed the gesture.

Grin growing wolfishly wide, Quatre held his beer to Wufei's lips. "You know you want some."

Oh Heaven, I do.

"I..." Wufei was saved by the smell. Inhaling the scent of beer right under his nose he made a disgusted noise. "Ugh. How can you put something that smells that foul into your body?"

Quatre put the bottle to his own lips and took a huge swig. "Hey, buddy, I've let you drag me to the Chinese market. You think _this_ smells foul?!"

Still smiling, Wufei affected an offended huff. "It's all a matter of taste."

Quatre finished his second beer. "One day I'll get you to drink one of these," he said, and then brought the empty bottle to his chest, holding it over his heart solemnly. His blue eyes sparkled and Wufei saw shades of Duo's influence in the mischievous expression. "So! You have to promise me that if you ever do decide to drink, you'll call me. We'll make a night of it!"

Taking another sip of his limewater, Wufei just rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Quatre."

Wufei watched as Quatre's eyes scanned the room for Duo. As if on cue, the braided man appeared trailed by a blue-eyed blonde. Just as quickly, they disappeared into one of the secluded booths that no one ever actually dined in. Wufei remembered something Quatre had said one rare night when he had had a little too much to drink and Duo had been dancing with a similar partner.

"_There he goes with another blue-eyed blonde that isn't me."_

And then, Wufei remembered, Quatre had shrugged and laughed self-deprecatingly. He, Sally and Hilde hadn't seen the humor.

"I need to talk to you." Wufei found that the words flew out of his mouth in that instant right after his id formed them but before his ego could pull them back down in the recesses of his brain where they belonged. Maybe the mere smell of that alcohol had lowered his inhibitions. He contented himself with eyeing the brown bottle suspiciously. It was better than meeting Quatre's concerned eyes.

"Sure, Wu. Do you want to go outside? It's a little loud in here." Two sets of eyes were drawn to Hilde, who hovered nearby.

Wufei nodded and found himself following Quatre's back to the bar's front door. Tangle was adjacent to an alley, but the night was wearing on and, to be quite honest, that particular space was almost assuredly already occupied.

It was chilly out, but not particularly cold, so Quatre and Wufei sat side by side on the narrow ledge framing one of the bar's blacked out windows.

And now Wufei would do the honorable thing. Why was it, he asked himself for the thousandth time as he sat nearly touching Quatre's jacketed arm, did the honorable thing most often compare with taking out a gun and shooting yourself in the foot?

Quatre was looking at him expectantly. Clearing his throat, he imagined himself un-holstering a lethal looking firearm and sighting the smooth black toe of his tennis shoe. "I slept with Duo," he said to the sidewalk in front of him. A flamboyantly dressed drag queen happened to be passing nearby at that moment and for a second she and Quatre stared at him with equally confused expressions.

The drag queen recovered first. "Well, good for you, honey!" she said loudly, then winked at him before continuing on her way. 

Quatre took longer to respond. He and Wufei both watched the drag queen until she sashayed into the club next to Tangle.

"Why did you feel the need to tell me this?" That hadn't been the question he was expecting. Quatre's expression was neutral, which told Wufei in no uncertain terms that he was upset. Usually, Quatre's face showed his every emotion.

He decided to answer the questions he had been prepared for. "It was four years ago, right after I moved here. I didn't even know you yet, Quatre. When I met you and realized that you and Duo were..."

From beside him, Quatre laughed that laugh. The one that screamed, "Another blue-eyed blonde that isn't me."

"I don't have any claim on Duo, Wu. You know that." And, Wufei noted, his friend actually had a brave smile on his face.

Wufei tried to meet his friend's eye, but Quatre was intently watching a pair of staggering club-goers belly flop into a taxi.

"I just thought you should know," Wufei added lamely.

Quatre stood up and this time he met Wufei's eye as if they had merely been discussing the weather. "Thanks for telling me, bud," he said in an eerily calm voice. Then he patted Wufei's shoulder in a friendly way before returning to the bar without looking back.

Wufei remained on the window sill, staring at the gaping bullet hole in his foot.

* * *

Duo checked over his work.

_Dear Sir or Madam, This letter is in regard to the Assistant Large Mammal Keeper position... _blah blah blah._ Thank you for your time, and I hope to hear from you soon. Sincerely, Quatre R. Winner._

It looked fine, it looked professional, and it looked like a letter that would get any employer's attention. Quatre's newly refurbished resume was all there, too, in a file attachment. Duo - leaning back as far as his leather executive chair would recline - hit "send," and the electronic message traveled through some complicated mesh of wires and satellites that, truthfully, he could care less about, until it ended up in the inbox of Dr. Claus Johansson, Director of the Solomon City Zoo.

Quatre could thank him later.

Duo stared at the thermostat across from his big cherry desk. It was a little cold in here. If he were so inclined, he might get up and adjust it. Twisting the tail end of his braid around one long finger, he decided that, no, he wasn't inclined. Hmm. Maybe he would make those phone calls. Duo watched the blinking red lights on the phone, proof that the office drones at McNalley Luxury Properties were hard at work. Nah, maybe he wouldn't make those calls just yet. He didn't mind letting a few rich old men sweat over their land investments for a little while longer. He clicked the Tetris icon on his desktop instead, just as his assistant buzzed him. "A Renata Ryder is on Line 3. She says it's a personal call."

Though there was no one in his office to see him, Duo shrugged. "Put her though." True, he had no idea who Renata Ryder was, but on the other hand, talking to her would further delay the other phone calls, not to mention the pile of paperwork that he was supposed to be reviewing. Hell, maybe she was a reporter. Maybe today he would finally get up the nerve to out himself to the press as the Senator from Solomon's flamboyantly gay step-son. Duo speculatively drew a circle on his desktop with the capped end of a pen. Nah, probably not.

"Duo Maxwell."

"D-Duo? This is Nonnie."

The sudden materialization of a tight little ice ball in Duo's chest prompted the worry that he might be having his first heart attack at age twenty-six. Renata. Nonnie. Of course.

"Duo?"

"Nonnie." Mustering the word was quite an achievement, considering that he was dying here.

"Duo, do you remember me?"

Oh yes. "Nonnie... Nonnie... Where have I heard that name? Oh yeah, your dad killed my dad. How the hell are ya?" The words came out more sarcastic than he intended - if that was possible.

There was an inhalation of breath on the other end of the line. "Duo, you're not making this easy."

As much as he wanted to hang up, he couldn't help himself. "Making what easy, exactly?"

"Well, my – shit, I realize how ridiculous this sounds now that you're on the phone..." After the expletive, the polite, accentless voice on the other end of the line transformed into one he hadn't heard in fourteen years. "... But my therapist told me I should call you. You know, to make peace or something."

Hearing that voice in his ear, only a little deeper than the singsong trill he remembered, affected him like a shotgun blast inches from his head. But he had recovered enough now to hide it. "I wasn't aware that we were at war," he said carefully. He gripped the phone tightly while waiting for her response. Having this conversation was the same as masturbation when he was a kid – every instinct told him he shouldn't be doing it, but he just couldn't stop himself.

"Aw, you know what I mean. She thought it would do us good to get together and talk sometime."

Duo had to laugh at that. "Talk about what? The good old days?"

"About..."

Duo made a disgusted noise. "God damn, girl, I know what about. I was being sarcastic." His own childhood accent slipped through and for once, he was too preoccupied to catch it and squash it back into submission.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Do you still live in Black Cove?" he finally asked.

"No, I'm married now. To Jared Ryder, do you remember him?"

Duo didn't. But for the first time in their conversation Nonnie sounded... happy. A small part of Duo was happy for her. A larger part resented the fact that she could call him up and talk about getting married like she was a normal, undamaged person. Like _they_ were normal people.

"So anyway, his people are from Taylorsburg, so we moved there," she finished.

Taylorsburg. The town lay less than five miles from Black Cove, yet half a world away.

"Mama and Daddy..." She paused at the mention of her father, and then decided to plow on. "... Still live in the Cove though. But they moved to a cedar house over on Pike Road. Somebody bought 'em out. They bought your old house, too. The newspaper said they're gonna open a textile factory there, so that's good news. We sure do need the jobs 'round here."

Duo had to butt in. "A textile factory? You think? Maybe the new owners are just going to let the whole place rot."

"Or they might do that," Nonnie agreed, displaying surprising equanimity. Duo was impressed. He had aimed to hurt.

It was at that moment that he realized there was no way he could possibly hurt her more than he already had fourteen years ago.

"Hey..." he said, and the impatience had flown from his voice. "Next time I'm in Taylorsburg I'll look you up, okay? I won't forget that your last name's Ryder now. Congratulations on getting married, by the way."

"Thanks, Duo." And she sounded like someone who had just let out the breath she had been holding for years. "Duo... At first, if you hadn't said your name, I wouldn't have knowed that was you. You just didn't sound like yourself. I mean, I know your mother married that rich Senator and all, but damn if I didn't think, well... when I was dialing the phone, I thought that when I talked to you you'd still be that same mountain boy from Kentucky."

Duo stared at his appointment calendar until the penciled in "Staff Meeting, 9:30" blurred into a gray mess before his eyes.

"But, now, you do sound like yourself. You are the same after all. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm glad to know it. Well... that's all."

Duo made a noncommittal noise which Nonnie took as her sign to hang up.

"Bye now, Duo."

"Bye... Nonnie." The both held the line a few seconds longer. Nonnie hung up first.

* * *

Quatre and Wufei had talked easily together over the next few days. It was to the point where Quatre could almost forget what his Chinese friend had confessed to him. Almost.

But now it was Saturday night and his boss at the hardware store had bitched at him for working overtime, Scout was refusing to tell them who the father of her baby was and the women were sniping at each another because Hilde had been rude to some woman Sally had tried to set her up with. Who could blame him for skipping the beer altogether and going straight for the liquor tonight?

All the barstools were full, so Wufei, who had been dancing, leaned close to him in order to request a new limewater from Hilde.

Quatre smiled at him and Wufei smiled back before asking, a bit tentatively, "You want to?" He supplemented the ambiguous question by jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the dance floor.

Quatre shrugged. Why not? Thinking through liquor-fuzziness, he decided to take his glass with him and the first thing he did after he wrapped his arm around Wufei's neck was to spill some of his margarita on Wufei's red silk shirt.

"Sorry! Here, I'll get napkins!"

Wufei reached back and brushed the pooling liquid off of his back. "Don't worry about it. Here..." Wufei pulled the shirt over his head to reveal a white undershirt. "It was an old shirt anyway, don't worry about it." Still, he took Quatre's drink and sat it down on a nearby table, assuring his friend, "I'll buy you another in a minute. Let's just dance."

Quatre successfully wrapped his arms around Wufei's neck this time, and Wufei held the blonde around the waist.

"I understand what he saw in you," Quatre said suddenly. He was studying Wufei's face intently with drink-brightened eyes. 

Wufei groaned inwardly. He knew he hadn't heard the end of this. "Let's not talk about that," he attempted.

"No, no. Its ok, I'm fine with it. Really." Quatre smiled lazily at him and Wufei thought he had never seen a more enticing sight in his life.

The song changed to something slow and Wufei dared to pull Quatre closer. "Well, I'm not fine with it. I feel really bad about the whole thing. I wish I could take it back," he risked squeezing his friend a bit. "It wasn't at all worth it."

Quatre pulled away a little and Wufei reluctantly let him. "Yeah, you say that now. Don't worry, Wufei, I know Duo is supposed to be some kind of sex god or something. It's not like you're the first one of my friends he's slept with."

Wufei began to feel decidedly uncomfortable and he realized it was with good reason when Quatre continued, "What is it about him that's supposed to be so wonderful anyway? His technique? His cock? I've seen it, you know. Admittedly, we were a lot younger, but I don't remember it being anything that special."

Quatre still had that strange half-smile on his face. "Maybe it's the expression on his face when he comes? Does he take his hair down? Is he beautiful? Is that it, Wufei?"

Their dancing had become slower and slower until, by the time Quatre said Wufei's name, they were standing perfectly still on the outskirts of the dance floor. By unspoken agreement, they broke apart.

"He didn't have one," Wufei said quietly.

Quatre stared.

"An expression on his face when he came," Wufei elaborated. "He didn't have one." He slipped a piece of loose hair behind his ear before he continued. "Fine, I won't deny that I had a good time. But seriously, it's not an experience I would want to repeat even if I didn't know Duo like I do now."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

Wufei had to close his eyes and tune out for a minute just to regain his equilibrium. "Look, forget about it, Quatre! I'm sorry I told you! I-"

Duo chose that moment to make his appearance. Coming up behind Quatre, he draped an arm around his best friend's neck and pointed out two slender men, a tan blonde and a pale brunette who were dancing together. "You're the tie-breaker, Cat. WWJD? Who would Jesus do?"

"The brunette," Quatre answered Duo distractedly. The laugh he managed was only half-hearted.

Wufei wasn't sure whether to thank Duo for the distraction or run screaming for the door. He decided on a compromise. "I've got to call it a night, guys. See you later." Still clutching his ruined silk shirt, he hurried out to his car as fast as decency allowed. He didn't get away quite fast enough to keep from hearing Duo admonish Quatre: "Wrong! It was a trick question. Jesus would do both!"

Duo was dressed to the nines as usual, and looking utterly fuckable. Quatre wondered if the guy Duo took home tonight would turn out to be another one of his future friends. He was starting to think that he should probably begin a screening process for all of his new acquaintances - if only to preserve his own sanity.

* * *

When Duo noticed Quatre and Wufei dancing together, he decided to make himself scarce. They looked good together. And god knew Wufei had been making googly eyes at Quatre for long enough. For some reason, though, his eyes kept drifting in their direction. Because of that, he couldn't help but notice that their conversation was getting a little heated. And, being Quatre's best friend, it was his duty to go over and break it up. Right?

As soon as Wufei was out of earshot, Duo's eyes narrowed. "What's he sorry about?"

Quatre shrugged out from under Duo's arm and turned back toward the bar. "Fucking you four years ago."

Duo rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air. "Shit! I knew he was going to do something like that!" He followed Quatre to the entrance, where the blonde searched the coat room. Spotting the item first, Duo juxtaposed himself between his best friend and his jacket. "Come on, why are you going? Stay!"

Quatre reached around him and snatched the jacket. "I've got a headache, Duo. I'm going home."

"But you've been drinking, I can tell. Let me drive you."

Quatre eyed him skeptically. "You've been drinking, too."

Duo grabbed his arm. "Then we'll get a taxi."

"But we live in opposite directions."

Duo feigned hurt. "Am I not allowed to come visit you anymore?"

Quatre sighed. "Look Duo, I just don't feel like it tonight, okay?"

Duo followed him outside. "We'll at least share a taxi." Since one happened to be sitting at the curb there was not much Quatre could do to dissuade his friend.

Duo gave the cabbie Quatre's address first and when they arrived, he was less than surprised that Duo exited the cab, too. As the cab sped away, Duo asked rhetorically, "Can I come in?"

Quatre had to smile a little at that. "I should leave you out here in the cold."

Outside the apartment door, Duo stamped his feet a few times to get warm while Quatre fumbled for his keys. The braided man smiled beatifically. "But you wouldn't leave me outside. You love me too much."

Quatre rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Way too much."

"You might be right about that," Duo murmured. Then he did the last thing he should do. He came up behind Quatre and looped his arms around his best friend's waist.

The keys finally in the lock, Quatre paused.

"I'm sorry," Duo whispered in his ear. His breath was desert hot in the cold night air.

Quatre closed his eyes for a second then turned the key in the lock. "Nothing to be sorry for. You can't predict the future." He reluctantly extricated himself from Duo's warmth when the door swung open.

Duo followed him in, flipping on a lamp that Quatre had passed. "And thank god for that. The future is the last thing I want to know."

At that statement, Quatre, who was in the kitchenette now, looked over at him, but didn't comment. Duo stood in the middle of his living room. He had taken off his jacket and now his black mesh shirt stuck to him in all the right places. Quatre imagined peeling that shirt off of his chest and taking one of Duo's hard brown nipples into his mouth. Yeah. Like so many before him had done.

"I'm not going to be very good company tonight, Duo. I think I'm going to go to bed. You know where the spare blankets are." Then he made the mistake of glancing at Duo again. The braided man now smiled wolfishly at him from his couch, looking inviting, sexy and dangerous.

"Stay up with me," he murmured. "I'm too wired to go to bed yet." He patted the couch beside him and, when Quatre sat down, Duo scooted back against the couch arm and propped his legs on the blonde's lap. They looked at one another across the length of the dilapidated couch.

Propping his head on his fist, Duo said suddenly, "None of the guys I fuck mean a thing to me. I just like to have fun, you know that."

They had had this conversation. But Quatre asked again. "Doesn't that get old?"

Duo scoffed. "Nah. Waking up next to the same person every morning, having boiled eggs for breakfast and checking both of your stocks in the newspaper - that's what would get old." 

Quatre shrugged. "I suppose you're right. But some sad bastards actually want those things, you know?" Even though the tone of his voice was joking, Quatre watched Duo very carefully, gauging his face for any response.

With a smirk, Duo removed his feet from Quatre's lap then scooted closer. "But," he said, inches from Quatre's face now, "we know better, don't we?" Then Duo was kissing him with a mouth that tasted of whiskey and strawberry drink mix. Duo kissed Quatre before his best friend could say something that he did not want to - could not - hear.

All Quatre heard was blood pounding in his ears and maybe a small noise. A small noise that might have been emanating from deep down in his own throat. It might have been a whimper, it might have been a scream but they would never know because Quatre threaded his fingers through the hair at the base of Duo's braid and pulled him deeper into a suffocating kiss where there was no room for small noises.

At the feeling of fingers in his hair, Duo's eyes flew open. He should have pulled away but the kiss continued on for one second, then two, then five, and Quatre was not breaking the contact, laughing a small laugh and then making an excuse to go to bed. Somehow, Duo's hands found their way to Quatre's face, his thumbs under Quatre's chin, his fingers tracing cheeks, and brows and eyelids he knew better than his own. He was like a blind man trying desperately to see.

And then he saw.

Duo pulled away so abruptly that Quatre's fingers, still entwined in the base of his braid, tugged at his hair hard enough to bring white stars into his field of vision. Quatre jerked his hand back, as if he had been caught slapping Duo, and then held his open palm to his chest, perhaps so it could not repeat the same action again. Quatre had perfected the art of holding back.

Duo noticed that Quatre's breath came in ragged pants. And then he noticed that his own did, too. Their gazes met and for one crystalline moment the enormity of Quatre's love shone naked in his eyes. It was a sight beautiful to behold, yet terrible at the same time.

At some point, both had risen to their feet. Duo took an unconscious step backward. He knew he should have said something then. Done something. But he didn't. Like all the times before, he didn't.

And because Quatre loved him that much, his best friend abruptly dropped his hands to his sides, laughed a small laugh and then made an excuse to go to bed.

* * *

_A/N: No, I'm not a Freudian. Not by a long shot. The id and ego bit is just there because they're convenient terms. _


	11. There Is A Light That Never Goes Out

**Tangled Up in Blue**

**By: Sintari**

_Summary: Quatre and Duo are childhood best friends who are trying to make their way through life and reconcile their feelings for one another despite demons from both their pasts._

_Pairings: 24; 3x4x3, 2x4x2?_

_Warnings: NC-17, language, lemon, lime, drug use, angst, implied past non-con & D/S (This chapter is PG-13 for language). _

_Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing or Bob Dylan. _

_Archive: The Ventilation Shaft, Gundanium Line_

_A/N: This is the final chapter of Tangled Up in Blue! I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it and that the ending meets your expectations. The chapter title comes from a song of the same title by The Smiths, a song that – incidentally – pretty much inspired the whole fic. I recommend giving it a listen sometime! Thanks again for reading and I really appreciate any feedback or reviews!_

_A/N2: I used italics because this site often leaves them out for some reason!_

**Chapter 11 – There Is a Light That Never Goes Out**

_Somebody once said,_

"_True love is likes ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen."_

_I've seen both, and I don't know how to tell you which is worse._

_Beth Gutcheon, More Than You Know_

The zoo had given him two weeks off for bereavement, and Quatre spent most of it on the couch in his pajama bottoms eating ramen noodles and watching the classic movie channel. He had never been more thankful for Trowa. Though they had only been together for a few months, his boyfriend seemed to read his mind, showing up on nights he needed him there, giving him his space other times.

They carefully avoided the fact that Quatre hadn't given Trowa an answer about Tsavo.

They were in front of the TV eating Chinese take-out when the subject finally came up again. Rita Hayworth slapped Glenn Ford and milliseconds later Trowa dropped his chopsticks on the table with a clatter.

Quatre tore his eyes from the screen. He realized then that he and Trowa hadn't actually spoken to one another for over an hour.

"I was wondering," Trowa began. He was staring at the fallen chopsticks as he said it. "I know you don't have your passport, so I brought you this application. You need to file six weeks before you leave. And I leave in two months. So…"

Quatre was saved from replying by the ringing of the phone. He glanced at the caller ID and then guiltily back at Trowa before taking another bite of rice. They sat there in silence as the phone rang six times. On the screen, George Macready made a shady deal with some gangsters.

"Duo?" Trowa said quietly.

"Yup."

Quatre watched as Trowa held the application out so that it spanned the no man's land between them on the couch. When had they started sitting so far apart?

"Have you had time to think about it?" Trowa asked. Quatre regarded the paper until the fine print blurred before finally taking it. Rita Hayworth was singing a torch song in the background.

"Yes."

Trowa took a deep breath before responding. "And will you tell me what you've been thinking?"

Quatre chased a glob of rice around the carton before taking his own deep breath. "I've been thinking that I need more time."

Trowa nodded. Tentatively, Quatre reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll make my decision soon. I promise."

* * *

Duo was thinking about Katie Winner. Specifically, he was standing in the produce section of the ShopRite remembering the day she had taught him and Quatre how to identify ripe cantaloupe. Hearing her voice in his head, he located a slick spot on the rind of his current choice and so sat it back down with its brethren. 

"A little out of your neighborhood, aren't you?" a familiar female voice said.

"I've always liked this store," he said casually, turning to face Iria. She stood behind him, her empty shopping cart blocking his path.

"I thought you might be hoping to bump into Quatre," came her neutral response.

Duo did not even blink. "Does he shop here? I never knew."

"From the moment he brought you home from school, I knew you were trouble," Iria continued, as if they had been in the middle of a heart to heart. "The best thing he ever did was drop you, Duo. Stay away from him."

Duo's knuckles tightened on the handle of his cart, and for a moment he considered ramming hers, just out of spite. But all he said was, "Can I go?"

"Trowa is good for him. He's stable, he's a nice guy. He was there for him when our mother died. Where the hell were you, Duo?" She seemed to want an answer, but she moved her cart out of his way as she spoke.

"Iria…"

"No more excuses, Duo. He waited around for you for years. Years! Now he's going to Tsavo with Trowa and he's going to make something of himself instead of living in your shadow. Don't fuck this up for him."

Tsavo? Suppressing the urge to scream at her, Duo managed to twist his lips into a smirk instead. That had always annoyed her. "How long have you been waiting to say this to me?"

All the anger seemed to drain from Iria's face and Duo suddenly remembered who she really was. A woman old before her time. A woman with two jobs and a pregnant ward. A woman whose mother had just died from a wasting illness. "Just don't let him down again," she said tiredly.

She left him there by the cantaloupes, her words hanging in the air.

Tsavo.

Kenya.

* * *

Letting himself in with his key, Trowa spotted the passport application sitting in the precise place where he had left it exactly a week ago. He gingerly picked it up, revealing a shiny, dust-free rectangle. 

"In the kitchen!" he heard Quatre call. "Just a minute."

When Quatre emerged he was surprised to see Trowa standing by the door, the passport application in one hand and the red and white toothbrush he had taken to keeping in Quatre's spare bathroom in the other.

Reading the question in Quatre's eyes, he smiled thinly. "I have to go."

"Go where? You just got here."

"To Tsavo," Trowa said quietly. "And I don't think it's a good idea for you to go with me."

Quatre didn't seem to notice that he had dropped the blue dishcloth he had been holding. "What? Why?"

"Because I'm not your Hollywood ending."

Quatre crossed the distance between them in three quick steps. "What? I never asked…"

But Trowa took a step back, keeping them at arms length. "For as long as I can remember, I have lived to please. If foster parents wanted a hard worker, I was a hard worker. If some children's home expected me to misbehave, I misbehaved. When I first reunited with my sister, she wanted a rock to lean on. So I was a rock. I put up with calls at all hours of the day. I spent my every spare moment listening to her problems. And now you want a Hollywood romance. You want candy and flowers and romantic walks in the moonlight and everything that Duo Maxwell isn't. So I did that for you. I don't sleep at night because I'm lying awake wondering if I should turn down this grant. Because I love you, Quatre. I love you, but you don't even know who I am."

"Trowa, that's not tr…" Then his mind caught up with his mouth. They stood less than two feet apart, but suddenly Trowa seemed a world away. "I'm sorry," Quatre said quietly. He stooped to pick up the fallen cloth, because when you've walked on someone, it's hard to look into their eyes afterward. "Maybe I just wasn't ready."

Trowa's face twisted into an expression that Quatre wouldn't have recognized, even if he had been able to bring himself to look up. "It's okay. It's my own fault. I always do this." The sound he made might have been a chuckle, under different circumstances.

"No! It's my fault! I didn't realize what I was doing. I really, really liked you, Trowa. It's just Duo and I…." he was silenced when two long, tan, fingers pressed against his lips. Blue eyes met green.

"I'm going to Tsavo." Trowa said firmly. "I'll write to you, if you promise to write me back."

Quatre nodded, tears threatening to spill at any moment. And Trowa and his passport application and his toothbrush disappeared out the door, leaving Quatre alone again.

Three days later, Quatre awoke to knocking at the door. For the first morning since Trowa left, he did not immediately reach for him.

He peered out the peephole as he buttoned his jeans. Duo stood against the far wall. Quatre could see that his braid was thrown over one shoulder and he was twisting it in both hands. The cheap silver cross pendant Quatre had given him so long ago – back when he still thought God paid attention to them – caught the security light, a bit of brightness against his plain black t-shirt.

Maybe it was the way Duo looked at the ground dejectedly, or the way one hand moved up to his heart to clasp the cross between two fingers that made Quatre remove the security chain and open the door.

They took one another in for a second. Quatre thought Duo looked pale, and the slight widening of his eyes indicated that he was nervous. Very few people had ever seen Duo Maxwell's nervous face.

"What do you want?" Quatre asked, and even though he had had a full night's rest, just seeing Duo made him feel as if he hadn't slept in days.

Seeming to recover from the shock of actually coming face to face with his best friend again, Duo's words came out in a rush. "I want you to come with me. Just for one day." He had used both hands to push himself off the wall and take a few quick steps toward Quatre. But something stopped him from completely closing the distance between them, so he made his plea from a few feet away. It seemed odd to Quatre to be standing and conversing with Duo from a distance. He felt like he should raise his voice.

"Why should I?" he said, in a normal tone.

"I need you to help me with one thing. And then you can go to Tsavo and you never have to see me again." The words tumbled over one another, as if Duo was afraid Quatre would slam the door at any moment.

"I'm not-" Quatre began, but stopped. He had curled one of his hands around the doorframe and he suddenly felt the splintery wood beneath his fingertips. He moved his hand and put it in his pocket while the other remained on the doorknob. Pulling the door closer to his body, he shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Duo."

"Please. Quatre, please. If you ever loved me, you would come with me one last time." The pleading tone, coupled with the desperation in his eyes made Duo look hopelessly young and infinitely old at the same time.

Quatre laughed mirthlessly. "How could you even say that? If I ever loved you." He paused. "If you- if you think that, then we don't have anything else to talk about." He began to shut the door, an action that was intercepted by Duo's foot and shoulder.

"That was stupid! I shouldn't have said it!" he said hurriedly. All the distance between them was bridged with that quick gesture, and looking up at Duo from inches away, Quatre felt his heart in his throat. He had always known Duo was beautiful, but seeing him again after a few weeks' absence was enough to take his breath away. This was the face that could seduce even the most jaded Tangle patron, the face that could convince even the most skeptical investor to part with his money. He had often wondered it and he wondered it again at that moment – if Duo hadn't been so beautiful, would his father have touched him? Would Duo be standing before him now with a look of such raw need on his face that Quatre had to turn away?

"I love you," Duo said, and his voice was ragged. Quatre wondered if he was crying, but he couldn't bring himself to look up and see.

"You should go." The words came out so quiet that he thought he might have to repeat himself, but Duo seemed to hear him.

Nudging the door open farther, Duo dropped to his knees, graceful even in supplication. He was in Quatre's line of sight now, and Quatre could not stop himself from looking down at him.

Duo was looking back up, into his face, and there were tears in his eyes. "I'm asking you on my knees. And you know - you _know - _that I don't get on my knees for anybody. Please, Quatre. Please. Come with me today and I'll get out of your life forever."

Turning away from the only boy - the only man - that he had ever loved was possibly the hardest thing that Quatre had ever done.

"No!" he heard Duo say quietly behind him. "No…" he heard again, and this time the sound was barely above a whisper.

Quatre took a few jerky steps toward the bedroom, unmindful of Duo still kneeling in the doorway.

"We were fourteen." Duo's voice behind him sounded steadier, though it still held that desperate edge. "The first time I told you that I loved you, we were fourteen."

Quatre froze.

"It was in your backyard. In the snow. You had just had your strawberry milkshake and you were freezing. But you had forgotten your house key and no one was home."

Quatre raised his head but did not turn around. He had crossed his arms over his chest and began rubbing his upper arms.

"You were wearing the red coat. The one you said made you look like a fourth grader. And you were so cold. You were rubbing your hands together and you said they were starting to hurt. Do you remember?"

"I remember," Quatre said to the bedroom doorway.

"I walked over to you and put my arms around you. I put my hands under your coat, and you put yours in my coat pockets. We were standing nose to nose in the snow and I remember thinking that you had never looked more beautiful than you did right then. And then I said it."

Quatre heard movement and turned around. Duo was standing now. Their eyes met.

"I said I love you, Cat. And I've never stopped meaning it since."

Quatre had to restrain himself from reaching out and touching Duo's face, from folding Duo in his arms, from stroking his hair, from kissing him. There had been so many times that such a confession would have been apology enough. "Then why did you lie to me on Death Day? Why did you tell me you didn't remember? That's the kind of thing people never get over, Duo."

"No." Duo reached out and took his hands. "This, you and me, is the kind of thing people never get over."

When Quatre didn't answer, Duo said it again. "Please come with me."

"Just for today?"

"Just this once and you never have to see me again."

* * *

The car ride had been completely silent. As they drove east the land gradually rose until they were passing soft green hills that reminded Quatre of the curve of his mother's hip beneath the sheets of her hospital bed. 

He had an inkling of where they were going and he remarked on it when they passed a particular road sign.

"Kentucky?" The mild comment sliced through hours of silence between them.

Duo looked over at him then, taking his eyes off the road long enough to make Quatre nervous. "Yup, Kentucky."

Suddenly the silence was just too much. Quatre did not say anything, so Duo did. "Did you know that, during the Civil War, Kentucky was such an important swing state that Abraham Lincoln said 'We would like to have God on our side, but we must have Kentucky'?"

"No," Quatre said quietly.

The drove in silence for a few minutes more before Duo proclaimed, "I hate this fucking state."

* * *

Two hours later, Duo remarked, "That Wal-Mart is new." 

"Then this is-?" Quatre asked.

"This is Taylorsburg. Over there," they had been following a muddy brown river and Duo pointed to its opposite bank, "is Black Cove."

Quatre looked where Duo pointed, as if his best friend's childhood home would suddenly manifest in the copse of spindly pines. "Why?" he finally asked.

Duo seemed to stare for a minute at a red light before turning beneath it, putting them on a smaller two-lane road. "I had some things I needed to take care of." Seeing, or maybe sensing, Quatre's eyes narrow, Duo explained further. "Some things I don't think I could do without you."

Quatre scoffed then.

"I was serious when I said you never have to see me again," Duo said. "I hope it won't be like that," he added. "I would miss you."

Quatre did not answer. It was his turn to stare as they passed a turquoise-colored trailer with a scattering of baby toys in the front yard. Never having strayed far from Solomon, he had thought those were only found in the movies.

"I like Trowa," Duo offered then, still apparently trying to coax an answer from Quatre. "Sometimes when he touches you, I want to break every bone in his fucking hand, but I like him."

Beside him, Quatre rolled his eyes. "Too little, too late," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said, too little, too late." And he tried hard not to think of Duo on the floor of his apartment saying all the words that he had ever wanted to hear.

Duo's hand went to his own chest, like he was about to defend himself. But noting the look on Quatre's face he stopped.

"I know," he replied quietly. "And I'm sorry."

Quatre just stared out the window, gripping the hand rest when they swerved to avoid a particularly large pothole.

His head was turned at such a deliberate angle that the first thing he saw when they turned into the drive – it was mostly dirt now, with traces of gravel – was the barn.

_The_ barn.

He had expected it to be larger. A carnival house of horrors and the Bates Motel all rolled into one. Perhaps with a tall scary gable draped and a parachute sized spider web that would glisten in the moonlight.

Instead what he saw was a falling-in structure, made from wood that had been treated once but had now turned a uniform gray. It was tilting; its weight settling in one back corner, and Quatre imagined it falling down with one swipe of a giant's hand.

Beside him, he heard Duo swallow audibly. Quatre glanced over; Duo was peering past him, and past the barn, too, gazing at something no other living person would ever truly be able to see.

Duo noticed him noticing, and then one of his wolfish grins banished the memories that had shown so plainly on his face.

"This is it! The Old Maxwell homestead!" He threw his door open. "A lovely place to raise a child, right?"

Quatre inspected the house next. Even his unpracticed eye could see that it had started out as a square box, with additions enlarging it over the years. The house had been painted more recently than the barn, but its white paint was peeling off in long strips. A wide porch, sans any safety railing, protruded off the front of the house and a set of steps – missing two – led up to the front door. A hornet's nest clung to one corner of the porch roof. The yard was mainly dirt, but straggly weeds climbed up the house, nearly reaching the window sills. One of the windows was boarded up. Another, though empty of glass, was not.

"Nobody lives here now, I hope," he told Duo, who was walking slowly toward the house, leaving footprints in the dusty yard. Quatre remained beside the car.

"Not unless they're squatters." Duo looked at him over his shoulder. "I own it." Reaching the porch he stomped on the first step, testing it. It held. "Do you want to see where Duo Maxwell spent his formative years?"

He would have taken it back if he could have, but at that question, Quatre unconsciously glanced over at the barn.

When Quatre turned back to his friend, Duo's eyes were opaque. He had that strange, detached smile on his face. The one that usually preceded some impromptu crack about his childhood. The one that made Quatre want to cover his ears because he knew the next thing his friend said would become the stuff of his nightmares.

But Duo didn't say anything this time. Instead, he abandoned his testing of the steps and loped back over to the car. "Of course you want to see." He reached for Quatre's arm, but Quatre flinched away.

"I don't want to," he said softly.

The strange smile on Duo's face faded until they were regarding one another with no weight of memories between them except for the ones they had created themselves.

Duo answered just as softly. "Neither did I."

This time it was Quatre who held his hand out. Duo did not flinch away.

Quatre wordlessly entwined their fingers just as Duo tentatively toed the barn door open.

It smelled of rot, gasoline and some thick, dry scent that Quatre was sure he had never smelled before.

"Watch for snakes," Duo cautioned.

The barn's floor was made of hard packed earth. Quatre noticed spindly weeds growing in the swaths of sunlight that had filtered through the substantial cracks in the walls. It was surprisingly dark inside, but Quatre thought he could make out two sawhorses and some rusted equipment lurking in the shadows. He looked up and expected to see a hayloft from a rerun of _Little House on the Prairie_, but instead saw only several more implements hanging from the rafters.

Duo had stepped in behind him. Quatre felt the grip on his hand slacken and he turned to see Duo staring at a spot fourteen years away. Quatre tugged the hand a little.

"We've seen it. Let's go."

"No, wait," Duo said, but he wasn't staring into the corner anymore. Now his eyes were fixed on Quatre's face. "There are things I need to tell you about that time."

Quatre tensed. He couldn't think of a single thing about that time that he wanted to hear. But he stood there quietly, still holding onto his best friend's hand, when Duo began to speak in a low voice.

"This," he motioned around the barn. "This thing went on for a long time, you know. That spring when I told my teacher what happened and Dad switched to Nonnie. I was- I was happy. No, not happy. Relieved. I was relieved, Quatre, that it was her and not me." Duo was not meeting his eye, instead focusing on the rusted head of a rake that lay in patch of sunlight.

Quatre stared at him incredulously. "Is that all?" he finally asked and Duo's head snapped up. "I'm serious. Of course you were relieved," Quatre said, and he wasn't sure where the anger in his voice was coming from. "You were twelve years old, for fuck's sake, and for the first time in years one of the people who was supposed to love you more than anyone in this world wasn't-" He paused. "Wasn't abusing you. What were you supposed to feel, Duo?"

"You don't understand. I was older. I should have kept my mouth shut!"

Quatre took a step so that they were facing one another. "You always do this. You always think you know what's best for everyone. You think you could have stopped your dad from molesting Nonnie. You think you had to pay for my mom to stay in a nice nursing home to keep me happy. You think you had to-" Quatre blinked. Then blinked again. "You think you had to lie to me so that I would go with Trowa instead of pining for you."

In the stillness of the barn, Duo nodded slowly.

Quatre closed his eyes for a few seconds to process the fact that they were having this particular conversation in this particular place. The place was as large a part of their personal mythology as Death Day or Duo asking Quatre if he still loved him. The barn was their nightmare and their church and their Mecca. If he were going to get any straight answers out of Duo then this would be the place. Besides, in a way he already knew the answer.

"Is that why you've held yourself back from me all these years? Because you don't think you're good enough for me?"

Instead of answering, though, Duo paced across the barn and prodded with his foot at a shadow on the dirt floor near one of the sawhorses.

"I'm like a ghost," he said quietly. "And this, right here," he drew a line in the dust with his toe, "is the place where I was killed. Now, even though it might look like I'm living and breathing, all I can do is haunt the place where I died, replaying the events of my death over and over again." He looked back at Quatre, so that he was in three quarters profile in the edge of the gloom. "Is that what you want? A ghost?"

Quatre followed him across the floor. It was not nearly as difficult as he thought it would be to tear his eyes from the line Duo had drawn with his foot. Echoing a gesture Duo had used on him a thousand times, Quatre cupped his best friend's chin.

"No. That's not what I want. Because I refuse to believe that the person I've loved for over half my life is a ghost." Quatre's voice trembled but did not break. He tilted Duo's face so that he was looking at that line in the dirt. "If he killed you, then he wins." Quatre paused. "I always thought it went without saying, but maybe I do need to say it. There is nothing you could ever do that would make me not love you."

"Really?" Duo asked, and his voice was so small that Quatre wondered for a split second if he really was talking to a ghost.

"Yes." Quatre answered firmly.

"Then there's something I have to do." Quatre watched Duo march resolutely back into the daylight before joining him.

By the time he reached the doorframe, Duo was fetching a red plastic gas can out of the trunk of his car. It looked heavy and Quatre followed along behind as his best friend splashed kerosene on the barn's outer walls.

They had rounded two corners before Quatre found the presence of mind to ask, "You're going to burn it? Are you allowed to burn a building? Just like that?"

Duo glanced over his shoulder at him. "Watch me."

He finished the third wall and then added, "Or better yet, make yourself useful and move my car." Still dubious, Quatre did as he was told. When he got back, Duo was standing in front of the barn door, inspecting his handiwork. The kerosene was a dark stain on the untreated wood, though its stench was already drifting away on the wind.

"Stand back," Duo cautioned. Quatre didn't need to be told twice. He half expected an explosion when Duo pulled a matchbook from his pocket and tossed one at one of the dark stains with a muttered curse.

Duo walked to another corner of the barn and Quatre, noting that the first match had only created a small -- even tame-looking – flame, followed. "This one is for Nonnie," he heard as Duo tossed another match at the barn.

Another corner. "This one's for Quatre."

Quatre felt a dull pain in his chest when the match struck the wall and a tiny flame appeared.

They circled back around the barn, and Duo stood in front of the barn door. There was a cozy little fire going in the spot where he had tossed the first match, though it was nowhere near the conflagration Quatre had expected. He watched for a moment as the wood blackened.

Duo regarded the barn door for a long moment, clutching the matches in one fist. Then he took one out and struck it against the small strip on the back of the matchbook. It lit on the first try and Quatre watched as Duo stood still for a moment, staring at the tiny flame until it almost burned his fingers.

"And this, you motherfucker-" He dropped the match and watched as the flames began licking at the barn door. "This one is for me."

Something changed then, it might have been the wind, or maybe Duo had spread extra kerosene on the door. Whatever it was, the fire suddenly took on a new life, spreading rapidly up the walls like a living thing. Duo stood in front of it – far too close to the flames – for a long second before walking backwards until he reached Quatre's side.

Duo's breath came out in a jagged sob. He made the most uncharacteristic motion; he clutched his hands together, fingers entwined and then fisted them underneath his chin, as if praying.

After a long moment, he stretched his arms out in front of him, then looked back over at Quatre and grinned. Quatre couldn't help but grin back.

"Well, there goes that," Duo said lightly.

"There goes that," Quatre agreed.

Duo was the first to laugh when sirens sounded in the distance. Quatre smiled up at him, and in Duo's mind, the blond lay on the bed again, naked, inviting. Quatre held his hand out, and this time there was no bloated body, no bloodshot eyes. In fact, there was nothing stopping him from taking the offered hand. Nothing at all.

"Let's get out of here before they get here," Duo suggested. "We'll let them take care of it. I know a back way."

For once, Quatre did not argue. He only took Duo's hand in his own as they trotted to the car.

"Besides," Duo continued, as he opened his door with the key and then tossed the set over the top of the car to Quatre. "There's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

_There is a light that never goes out._

End


End file.
